


The Gilded Cage

by JiggleWigs



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Alternate Canon, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bloodbending, F/M, Imprisonment, Sexual Content, Violence, Zutara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiggleWigs/pseuds/JiggleWigs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you offer yourself as a prisoner, be prepared for someone to take you up on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is my third Avatar fic in like three months? It's a problem.
> 
> Anyway, this takes place during the "The Western Air Temple", where Zuko offered himself as a prisoner as a way of joining their group. And since I'm the trash person that I am, I couldn't get the idea of how things would have played out if they actually did take him prisoner. So here ya go. I wanted to originally write it as a one-shot, but I quickly realized this was going to take a lot longer than a reasonable one-shot would allow. 
> 
> Lo the debauchery. No warnings apply in this chapter.

When Zuko had decided to join the Avatar, he knew there would be challenges. He’d done everything he actively could to burn every bridge he could have ever formed with their group, and he knew that from their perspective, he was nothing short of a monster. He was the Fire Lord’s first born, the blood of the man they all despised in his veins, and up until this point he’d given them no indication that there was anything in him beyond loyalty to his father. But he was more than that. He knew if he could just put that into words—if he could just show them the person he’d grown to be instead of the petulant boy they had known—they could possibly understand him.

It had been a long time ago, now, but Aang had even thought they could be friends. Of course, Zuko had been too angry to even consider the statement as anything more than a taunt and lashed out at him, but now he wonders what could have happened if he’d just listened to the boy and done things differently. He wonders how it would have been if he’d done a lot of things differently.

“Well, now what?” Katara asks, and Zuko looks between her and the rest of their group. He’d offered himself as a prisoner as a last resort, but he hadn’t truly expected them to take the offer. They’d—for a lack of a better word—ambushed him at his makeshift camp after initially rejecting him, and he hadn’t fought them after the initial shock. He’d let Sokka bind his hands with rope, restraining the biting comment that tying a firebender up with a flammable object wasn’t the best idea.

“What do you mean?” Sokka responds, frowning and looking to their prisoner. Zuko shifts uncomfortably, both Katara’s intense gaze and the itchy rope around his wrists forcing him to fidget.

“What are we supposed to _do_ with him?” Every pair of eyes is directly on him as if they expect him to suddenly spring forward and grab at Aang. Instead, he stays perfectly still.

“It’d be helpful to know where I’m going to be staying.” Zuko finally speaks, as no one seems to have an answer.

“Right!” Sokka says, gesturing with his sword and making Zuko pull away from him warily. As a master swordsman himself, he knew the respect and control it took to wield a sword. From what he’d seen of the young tribesman, he didn’t quite believe he had that control, so the Prince couldn’t help but be nervous as he waved it back and forth, “Obviously, you put the prisoner in a cell. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Cell?” Zuko questions, his unscarred brow arching upwards.

“He’s right, Sokka, the Air Nomads didn’t have prisons or dungeons or anything. There wouldn’t be any cells here.” Aang finally speaks, drawing everyone’s attention; “We’ll just have to put him in a regular room.”

“And what’s going to keep him from escaping?” Katara asks. It earns an aggravated sigh from the Prince. He knew they didn’t trust him, but did they not even understand what his general goal was?

“After putting this much effort into being here, why would I try to escape? I wouldn’t have let you capture me if I didn’t want to be here.” Sokka snorts indignantly, gesturing with the strange sword again in a way that only further unsettles Zuko.

“You didn’t let us! We caught you fair and square.” The firebender can’t resist rolling his eyes at that. If Zuko had put any effort into it at all, he could’ve easily escaped their so-called ambush. It was obvious no one in the group had any true formal training in the art of the properly executed ambush, and as such their form had been sloppy, leaving plenty of weak points for him to manipulate to escape. But he hadn’t, simply raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“That doesn’t really matter.” Zuko murmurs, “Just take me to my _cell_ so I can get settled.” Sokka grins as if he’s won some imagined battle, pointing with his sword—which he _still_ hasn’t sheathed, aggravating Zuko to no end—away from the open area.

“This way, prisoner!” Zuko walks past them, ignoring the boisterous boy behind him as he moved. Zuko had to admit; he’d never paid Sokka much mind when he’d been hunting Aang. He was a nonbender, and not particularly threatening to his plans, so he’d really never bothered to learn about him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to now, with how glaringly Sokka’s personality clashed with his own.

But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to make friends. 

* * *

 

Sleeping in the unfamiliar, minimal room had been easier than Zuko had anticipated. In his nights at the palace after returning to his father, he’d slept fitfully and restlessly as guilt ate at his conscience. Here, though, trapped in this air temple room by a wall of rock that blocked the doorway, he slept more soundly than he had in weeks. When he wakes with the rising sun, he stretches as fully as he can with his hands still bound awkwardly behind his back. His shoulders ache from the forced position, and he knows he could relieve the tension by simply burning the ropes, but he needed to earn their trust. Keeping his hands bound was a way of showing he was on their side, he hoped.

He pulls himself off the bed and to his feet, taking a moment to stretch out stiff limbs. His clothes are crusted with sweat and dirt and the fabric is randomly singed from his father’s lightning. He shifts in the clothing uncomfortably, wanting to both rid himself of the dirt and the memories of betraying his father. They hadn’t given him back his bag, and he’d been forced to sleep in the same clothes he’d been wearing for several days and nights. His hair was in no better state, starting to gain the shine of overdue grease. He desperately needed to bathe, and wondered if he could convince them to let him go long enough to wash himself and his clothes.

Zuko waits hours before he can even make such a request. He waits. And waits. And _waits_. The sunlight stops streaming in from the windows at an angle, indicating it was nearly noon and still no one had come. His stomach nags at him, having grown used to the regular, rich meals of the palace. He wonders if they were simply going to let him starve in here as his punishment for everything he’d done to them. Perhaps he deserved it.

Finally, by what he estimated was mid afternoon, the wall of rock falls from the doorway in one quick motion. The movement is shaky, the earthbender’s feet still unsteady beneath her as she recovers from her burns, but he’s glad to see they hadn’t forgotten about him.

“He’s all yours.” Toph says plainly as Katara rounds the corner and descends the steps into his room. He’s dismayed to see neither of them have any food for him, but doesn’t mention it.

“Just making sure you’re still here. We weren’t sure if you would be.” Zuko sighs, even quicker to aggravation than he normally was due to hunger and discomfort.

“I’m not going anywhere.” A heavy silence follows, the air so thick it felt as if he could chew it.

“Good.” She says the word sharply, the syllable hitting him like a shard of ice. She turns to leave.

“Katara?” It’s the first time he’s said her name out loud. It rolls off the tongue in a way distinctly foreign to him, the sound being so different from the Fire Nation names he was accustomed to. She doesn’t turn around completely, only tilting her head to look at him.

“I would really love to get out of these clothes.” He barely finishes his sentence before water hits him so forcefully that he’s slammed back against the wall bordering his bed. Ice suddenly gathers along his shoulders and pins him there. Despite the chill, he feels embarrassed heat rising to his cheeks, “Not—not like that! I didn’t mean—” Why was he so _bad_ at this?

“I meant that I need to bathe! And get a change of clothes from my bag. I’ve been wearing these for a few days and they’re kind of unpleasant.” He considers his words more carefully this time, making sure not to make the mistake of accidentally insinuating something of that nature. Katara’s hands are still outstretched, the ice pausing in its ascent up his neck as her fingers curl ever so slightly. Her tightly furrowed brows relax.

“Oh.” She huffs. He swears he can hear a chortle from the hallway and Katara’s glare flicks in Toph’s direction before it returns to him. The ice suddenly melts with a practiced twist of her hand and he’s left soaked to the bone with chilled water before she suddenly bends the liquid right out of his clothes and off of his skin. It’s an odd, strangely intimate, sensation that sends a shiver through him. The water returns to the canteen on her hip, which she quickly caps with her thumb.

“Fine. Come with me.” Zuko scoots closer to the edge of the bed, getting to his feet and turning to her. She gestures for him to go first, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of having her back turned to him. He considers being annoyed, or even wounded, by that fact, but he knows she’s being surprisingly smart. He does as instructed, walking out of the room preceded by Toph and tailed by Katara. Going back out into the bright open space that the rest of the group had apparently decided on using as a general gathering area is refreshing. The sun on his face instantly revitalizes him. Firebenders weren’t meant to stay indoors all day, locked away from the sun.

The second source that draws his attention is the residual smell of food. It seems to be the remnants of their lunch, Aang waterbending clean water into the pots and dirty water out of it. The smell of the food cooked in the pots lingered, though, and his stomach protests loudly at the continued denial of sustenance.

“What is he doing out?” Aang asks, hands and water stilled midair as he catches sight of Zuko.

“He said he needs to take a bath.” Zuko can’t fathom why she seems so annoyed by that statement. Surely she understood this was something beyond his control.

“And get clean clothes from my bag.” He adds, spotting said bag resting against the fountain in the center of the space. It’s contents had been dumped out, his clothes haphazardly tossed aside while the other contents that had been inside of it were strewn about for whoever had felt the need to rummage through his things. “Or the floor.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. That was Momo.” It’s an unfamiliar name to Zuko, and he wonders which one of the three others that resided in the temple he doesn’t recognize that is. “He really liked the dried fruits you had.”

“That’s…great. I like them too; it’s why I brought them. For me.” He shakes his head as both of them seem to get on edge at his annoyed tone, “It’s fine.” He awkwardly bends to pick up his clothes, gathering them in his fists, “Just show me the way to where I can get clean.” Frowning, Katara ushers him away from Aang with a quick, concerned glance over her shoulder at the airbender. 

* * *

 

No one quite knew what to make of Zuko. Those of them who had known him for longer knew how explosively angry and even terrifying he could be, and those who hadn’t known him had heard the stories. Yet he wasn’t living up to those expectations at all.

As days came and went, Zuko was nothing but amiable. He stayed in his cell most hours of the day, only requesting to be let out for necessities involving toiletries and the like. Katara had even tested him by depriving him of food, yet he hadn’t complained about it once. So on the fifth day, when she comes in to check on Zuko, she has a small dish in her hands.

The lack of nutrients has clearly started to weigh on him. His cheekbones are slightly more pronounced and eyes more dull than she remembered them being when he’d arrived. Yet he hadn’t even asked her for food, only accepting what she decided he deserved. Guilt twists in her gut, cold, heavy and strange and she grips the contour of the bowl tightly. He may be a monster, and he may be their prisoner, but they didn’t have to be inhumane towards him. And it was her fault that they had been in the first place. Aang surely wouldn’t have agreed if he’d known she wasn’t delivering Zuko’s meals to him as she’d said she would just because she wanted to hurt him. It was her own petty revenge as much as it was a test of his character.

“I brought you lunch.” She sets the dish down on the edge of his bed, along with a small cup of water. He stays as respectfully far away from her on the bed as possible, confused gaze flitting between the food and her face. He wasn’t sure if he should trust the gesture, and she’s surprised that it actually saddens her. In her own anger, she’d become more like Zuko than even he was. Cruelty wasn’t in her, even towards monsters.

“I’m sorry.” She says quietly through gritted teeth. He may deserve the apology, but that doesn’t mean she likes saying it, “I shouldn’t have kept food from you.” He tentatively reaches out to the dishes with his bound hands, pulling them closer and picking up the chopsticks between surprisingly delicate fingers.

“I’ve gone longer without food.” Zuko says as he raises the bowl to his lips and pushes some of the rice into his mouth. He seems to savor it, chewing for longer than necessary before swallowing. The meaning of his words suddenly strikes her, and she frowns deeply. He’d gone longer than five days without eating? She shakes her head, deciding that to be a lie. He frowns at this, pausing with another mouthful of rice protruding his cheeks before he swallows.

“You don’t believe me.” It’s not a question.

“No, I don’t. You’re a _Prince_ to the richest nation in the world, why would you ever starve?” She glares him down, her own distaste for him rising once again. She knew hunger, growing up in an arctic tundra where food was scarce when hunts were bad. But the Fire Nation was a rich and prosperous land with nearly constant warmth and prosperity. What did he know about hunger?

“A banished Prince.” Zuko responds sharply, chopsticks tapping the edge of the bowl sharply, “I had no support from the Fire Nation beyond my ship and crew. We were never sent supplies or food. We had to gather those ourselves from the few cities that would barter with us. And after I lost my ship and crew, I had even less.” She finds her own features softening without her consent, “The last few years have been hard for me. We don’t all have the world, and the Avatar, on our side. I was fighting _everyone_ for everything I ever got.”

She wants to dismiss his words as more lies, but she can’t quite convince herself of that. He’s too sincere, his startlingly golden eyes moving up from the food before him to her eyes. Even starved and dulled, there’s something rich in those depths that unsettles her. Years of struggle conveyed in one gaze.

“…You deserved it. You and your family are trying to destroy the world. Do you honestly expect me to feel bad for you?” She can’t even convince herself that her anger is real as the foundations of her rage are shaken.

“No. I don’t need or want your pity.” He says plainly, continuing to eat before he speaks again, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me. I’m trying to get you to understand me. Maybe even forgive me, eventually.” The way he speaks those words so softly, the way they leave his lips like a _prayer_ , ignites the last struggling flames of her rage.

“ _Forgive_ you?” She hisses, fists clenching and the water in Zuko’s cup shivering, “What makes you think you deserve my forgiveness? My understanding? After everything you’ve done, you think you deserve that? Why? Just because you put on this humble prisoner act and made up some sad story? That might have worked the first time but not now! Not again!”

Zuko isn’t as phased by her anger as she expected, only his eyes widening and his posture going stiff as he answers tensely.

“I don’t deserve it…” He says, searching her face as he tries to decipher her, “but I’m asking for it.” Her rage freezes, leaving something heavy within her that she can’t name. She can’t even look at him anymore, storming from the room and leaving a wall of ice in her wake.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko continues to fight for the trust of the group, but he has to learn to trust himself first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There seems to have been a pretty positive reaction to the first chapter, so I was able to crack out a second one pretty fast. This one’s a little more intense than the last, since chapter one was more setting up the situation and now we're going to be exploring some deeper stuff happening in Zuko's head.

Patience was a finite thing, and that was even truer in Zuko’s case. He was naturally impatient, he couldn’t recall a time when he hadn’t been, and even when he’d matured over his three-year voyage, he hadn’t grown out of his impatience. Despite this, he had offered the Avatar and his group exceeding amounts of patience that would astound anyone who knew him on a personal level.

_If only Uncle could see this, he wouldn’t believe it._

He saddens himself with the thought, an annoyed scowl melting into a deep frown. His change of heart had come too late and he’d never gotten the chance to truly reconcile with the one man who had always believed in him, even when he hadn’t deserved the faith. It was one of his biggest regrets, turning on Iroh, and that was impressive simply because of the other regrettable things that tainted Zuko’s past that it had to compete with.

Snapping himself out of that train of thought, he watches as the wall of rock blocking the doorway to his room falls. The movement is less shaky, indicating Toph’s speedy recovery. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks since he’d burned her feet, and he idly wonders how she healed so quickly. Zuko considers the possibility that Katara had healed her, but he knew very little of how healing in such a way worked, or how fast it was.

“Soup’s on. Get it while it’s hot.” Sokka announces as he steps into Zuko’s ‘cell,’ and the captive notes that Katara has yet again not been the one to check on him, “Or. Y’know, lukewarm.” He sets the bowl down on the edge of the bed, and Zuko leans forward to see that it’s yet another bowl of rice. He was grateful for the food, preferring it to the starvation he’d been delivered over the course of most of his first week, but the bland, unflavored rice was starting to put his taste buds to sleep. Picking up the bowl with his bound hands, he finds it’s cold, making sense of Sokka’s words.

“It was really windy today, so we couldn’t really keep much of a fire going to keep it warm.” Sokka shrugs as he notices Zuko’s displeased expression.

“The Avatar—” Zuko stops himself, the words having come out as sharply as he was used to saying them, “ _Aang_ couldn’t bend the wind away from the fire?”

“Yeah, I guess he could’ve. But he had to eat too.” An awkward silence follows as Zuko cradles the bowl carefully between his hands, surging heat between his fingers until steam rises from the rice. Sokka is clearly perturbed by it, hand twitching near the hilt of his sword.

“I could’ve kept the fire going.” Zuko murmurs, the rice somewhat more palatable now that it’s not congealed into chilled lumps, “I’m here to help.”

“No, you’re here because you’re too dangerous to be running around loose.” He sounds like a broken record, his mistrust tiring the Prince beyond measure.

“I didn’t mean to burn her, I—” Sokka cuts him off with a dismissive snort.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean—it kind of is, but not completely. We still don’t know if you’ve got some kind of evil scheme to lead your Dad or your crazy sister to Aang. But if you’re locked up in here, there’s no way you can give us away.” He overheats the rice in his anger, a few of the grains burning and the wood touching his hands scorching.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Zuko snaps, glaring up at him, “How would I contact either of them? Do you think I’ve got a messenger hawk stuffed in my shirt?” Zuko sets down the bowl and gestures to his own clothing, “I betrayed my family and my nation to be here because I’m tired of being on the wrong side but none of you will even give me a chance to prove myself!”

“You had a lot of chances to prove yourself, Zuko.” Sokka says, and his words are uncharacteristically somber, “How many chances do you think you deserve? Aang’s pretty forgiving, but even he knows there are some people that just…they can’t be redeemed.” A coldness settles over Zuko, his gritted teeth going slack as he starts to understand just how unfavorably he’s seen. For a moment, he clearly sees himself through their eyes and understands what a _monster_ he was—is.

“I’m not…” Zuko practically whispers, “I’m a good person.” Sokka’s eyes meet his, the azure gaze doubtful and perhaps even sad.

“Are you?”

It isn’t until Sokka leaves, the rock rising again to block the doorway, that Zuko’s head drops and he murmurs quietly to himself;

“No.”

* * *

 

Toph was tired of being Zuko’s impromptu prison guard. She hadn’t volunteered for the position, but it seemed she was forcefully given the job by default as the only unoccupied earthbender. Haru was busy helping Aang explore the temple, assisting him in bending massive quantities of rubble out of the way of passageways, leaving her the only option to rise and lower the stone barricade whenever someone needed passage into Zuko’s room.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind so much if she didn’t see how pointless this all was. Nearly every day the group tried to come up with ways Aang could learn firebending, while all of them simultaneously danced around the subject of their captive. They were all letting their own sore spots blind them from seeing the perfect opportunity in front of them.

“Maybe I can just…beat the Fire Lord without it.” Aang says into his bowl of untouched food, “I mean you don’t beat fire with fire, right?” Toph groans, rubbing her face and not even listening to Katara’s response before she interrupts.

“Your whole deal is master of all _four_ elements. Ol’ Lord Hot Pants isn’t going to be taken down by three-fourths of an Avatar.” She bites out, crossing her arms. She was officially out of patience for their stubborn pettiness, “I’ve been listening to you people rag on Zuko for two weeks straight and I’m tired of it. You _need him_ but you’re all so intent on calling him the Boogeyman that you won’t even look at what he’s offering us!” Silence resonates around the group, the only sound being the crackling of the dying fire.

“We don’t need his help.” Katara is the first to speak.

“Oh really? So Aang’s just going to learn firebending _magically.”_ She stands, glaring at the space in front of her, “Zuko didn’t start the war, but he’s offering to help us end it. Just think about that.” She storms off into the winding halls that led to Zuko’s room, huffing and sitting against the stone slab blocking his door.

She’d witnessed every short conversation that had transpired between Zuko and a member of the group, and they all followed the same script. He would be accused of being a monster, or something of that sort, to which he would make a rebuttal before whoever it was that had bothered him decided to storm out. But his talk with Sokka had changed something.

She could feel his movements in the joining room. Ever since their conversation had transpired, Zuko’s movements were different. Before, he had paced the room somewhat briskly and restlessly, and, to her amusement, often talked to himself. But for the past couple of days he mostly just stayed on his bed, facing the wall and ignoring the food that was brought into him. She’d suffered from depression enough times to recognize it when she saw it, and as she feels him continue to lie like a stone on his cot, she decides to take some initiative. She didn’t have to listen to them. She didn’t have to listen to anyone if they were as blindly petty as they were.

Standing, she makes one swift movement that forces the rock back into the ground and leaves Zuko’s doorway empty. He doesn’t move, keeping his back to the door as he waits for whoever it was that was coming to see him. No one enters, though, and Toph turns sharply on her heel before storming away.

He would make his choice.

* * *

 

Zuko stares at the doorway for a long time. It gapes at him with its openness, the pebbles littering the ground the only indicator that something had once blocked it. He wonders what trick this is as he climbs out of his bed, his legs weak underneath him from disuse as he approaches the doorway. Silence resonates around him, only the howling wind flowing through the halls assuring him he hadn’t suddenly gone deaf.

“Hello?” He questions, feet stopping on the last step before the hall. He leans forward, peeking around the edge to see the equally empty hall. He was truly alone. He takes a deep breath as he steps out into the hall completely, the current of fresh air sweeping his hair out of his face.

Now what?

His eyes drift down the left half of the hall where a large chunk of displaced rock and stone showed the outside world. This clearly wasn’t going the way he had planned, the trust of those he had spurned obviously too far out of his reach to ever be obtainable, and if he cut his loses and tried to escape now, he could. But where would he go? He was once again an enemy of the Fire Nation, and he wasn’t welcome in either Water Tribe on the merit of him being a firebender alone, not to mention his status as Prince of the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom was equally as hostile, Ba Sing Se being little more than a Fire Nation colony now and every remaining Earth Kingdom colony quickly learning his very recognizable face. Escaping would only cause him more pain as he hopped from continent to continent trying only to survive and elude capture by those who despised him or those being paid to ensnare him.

He turns his head, looking to the right half of the hall. Now that he strained his ears to listen, he could hear the distinct voices of the Avatar’s group coming from this direction. Staying would mean remaining their prisoner, but it would also mean security and possibly redemption. He could hopefully fulfill his own destiny of helping the Avatar defeat his father, and finally regain the honor he’d so desperately fought for in all the wrong ways. But the shame of what he’d done was constantly rubbed in his face here, forcing him to relive every excruciating memory of the things he’d done to them and everyone else who had ever dared to interfere with him. Those memories and thoughts were tearing him apart from the inside, rotting any illusions he had that there was good in him still. It was almost more painful than the thought of being a vagabond, wandering the globe without a home or even a vague goal.

_I’m a good person._

_Are you?_

His head snaps sharply to the left, eying the crevice that he could easily climb through and the cliff he had more than enough agility to scale. He turns his head right as he hears voices drawing closer.

**_Are you?_ **

Conflict burns in him, twisting his insides into a gnarled mess as he presses back against the opposite wall from the doorway, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to think. He finds himself sliding to the floor, bound hands resting dejectedly on his lap. He stares into the tiny space that had become his whole world.

**_Are you?_ **

“I don’t know.” Zuko hisses through clenched teeth, hands tangling in his hair. His opposing sides, his good-natured heart and bad-tempered mind, had battled for so long that the bloodshed between them had left him a husk of the man he wanted to be. He wanted to be like the Avatar and his friends, who being good came so naturally to. For him, every good decision was a struggle and every bad call was a regret. He’d thought his morals had won out when he’d made his decision to join the Avatar, but he was just as conflicted as ever.

Could he ever truly be good? Or was he just his father’s son, destined to be the same man? Was his attempt at finally being _good_ just a mask he was pulling over something ugly and dark within himself?

Ice gathers around his waist, pinning him where he sits and he doesn’t fight it. He hears rapid footsteps approaching but doesn’t look away from the doorway, his hands still wound tightly into his hair.

“What did you _do_?” He hears, his eyes finally flicking up to the source of the voice and his hands settling back in his lap, finding Katara’s furious gaze on him. The others in the group surround her, all of them as equally surprised and outraged.

“How did you get out?” Sokka asks as Aang approaches the doorway and studies it. Zuko isn’t sure what he’s looking for, and he doesn’t particularly care. He’s just glad to have been caught, the choice being taken out of his hands as to whether he should escape or stay. The roar of conflict suddenly starts to die down, leaving him exhausted.

“He didn’t do it. The rock wasn’t broken, it was moved with earthbending.” Aang speaks, the toe of his shoe nudging at the crease in the stone where the rock had been returned.

“Toph.” Katara growls, “How could she do something so reckless?” Zuko rests his head back against the wall, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.

“Because he’s still here, isn’t he?” Toph’s voice resonates in the hall, and every pair of eyes turns to her leaning in a small alcove. From his angle, he hadn’t even noticed the small space, and he suddenly realizes he hadn’t been alone. His eyes widen, shock freezing him far more effectively than the ice around his hips. She’d been testing him, giving him just enough of the illusion of freedom to see if he really meant what he’d claimed. He wonders if he passed the test by not choosing.

“He didn’t leave. If he wanted to give us away to the Fire Nation, he would’ve bolted the second he thought he was able to. He knows the area well enough to tell them where we are.” She walks over to them and meets Zuko’s eyes. The haze over her eyes show her blindness, but he swears she’s _looking_ at him. He’s forced to look away, unable to hold her unfocused gaze, “But he didn’t. How much more proof do you need that he wants to _help_?”

Zuko looks between all of them, shifting uncomfortably as the ice around his midsection starts to numb him.

“I need to think about it.” Aang says, his brow furrowing as he looks at anyone but Zuko, “I think we all do.” There’s a hum of general agreement among the group.

“But in the mean time, he still needs to be contained.” Katara adds hastily, as if amending Aang’s sentences, “You can’t just let him have free reign whenever you want, Toph. It’s not safe.” Toph makes a dismissive gesture, shaking her head.

“I was just trying to prove a point. Which I did.” Despite the waterbender’s venomous disposition, Toph seems almost smug. Zuko watches the interaction with some measure of amusement before he’s suddenly yanked off the ground by surprisingly strong hands. He can feel how tightly Katara is gripping the front of his tunic, the ridge of her knuckles pressing firmly into his chest. When she speaks, her harsh breaths brush his neck.

“Point made or not, I still don’t trust him.” She shoves him back towards his room and without the use of his hands to balance himself, he nearly runs face first into the wall bordering the doorway, “I’m not going to make it that easy for him, even if this _is_ somehow genuine.” Despite her harsh tone, Zuko can’t help but feel something warm settle in him.

They weren’t going to make it easy, but their answer had gone from a solid _no_ to a tentative maybe.  Perhaps this wasn’t as hopeless as he first thought, and as he’s ushered back into his room, he doesn’t even glance towards freedom before the stone wall is erected behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time ever writing any member of the Gaang. All my other stories pretty exclusively focus on the Fire Nation Royal Family, so I’m really well versed with them and no one else. Bare with me while I figure out how to write their personalities. 
> 
> Also; Ol' Lord Hot Pants. That is all.
> 
> Comments are appreciated obviously.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aang gets a firebending teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story is still really good, so I guess this is a thing now. No warnings in this chapter either, but I promise the adult-rated stuff is coming. Soon.

Rain was odd here. As it poured down over the side of the cliff, systems of tubes funneled the fresh rainwater into the fountains and bathhouses. Yet the position of the structures underneath the cliffs created the strange effect of keeping everything dry, for the most part, only the cracks in the ancient buildings allowing drops of water to intrude upon the stone.

It’s a powerful storm, and the torrents of water bring Katara a sort of inner peace as she listens to the rainfall. She was literally surrounded by her element on all sides, the serenity of it calling to her until lighting interrupted it.

She jumps at the sound, seeing the bolt of energy strike the ground in the distance. She scowls, the pattern of light burned into her retinas as she tries to blink the image away. The peace of the moment had been shattered by the opposing element clashing against the earth, and for some reason it drags Zuko to the forefront of her mind _again_. The same raw power and fury that lived in lightning inhabited the firebender, and she feels the instinctual pull of hatred towards him at the thought of it.

He was the embodiment of the Fire Nation. His pale, nearly porcelain-like skin, his slick, dark hair, and his piercing golden eyes—if it weren’t for the twisted scar tissue across the left half of his face, he would be the poster boy for what a firebender was supposed to be. Even his scar looked like a flame, licking up erratically across his forehead. Still, she can’t hate him the way she wants to, her anger stopping short of her core.

Every time he looks at her she thinks of his voice as he’d admitted the loss of his mother in those caves. In that moment, he’d been nothing but a _boy_ , a scared child—just like them—trying to survive this war. And that tone had returned once again when he’d admitted the struggle he’d faced over the years since his banishment. It was the moments when he looked at her with those tired, almost broken, eyes that she found her hatred waning and an odd feeling twisting in her gut that she refused to call butterflies.

“Katara?” Aang’s voice barely carries over the torrent of rain, “There you are.” He walks over, his face more grim than she expected it to be.

“Is everything alright?” She asks, frowning. He was even more tense now than he was before the Day of the Black Sun, but there’s something different in his frown now.

“I’m not really sure.” He says, “It’s…well, it’s Zuko.” She tenses, the rain closest to her seeming to slow in its descent.

“What did he do?”

“No—he didn’t do anything. I was just thinking.” He lets out a long breath, the struggle clearly showing on his face, “Now that we don’t have the advantage of the eclipse to take away the Fire Lord’s bending, I need to learn firebending. Being able to bend his element will help me predict what he’s going to do before he does it. It’s an advantage I can’t give up.” Katara knows where this is going, and she eyes him warily, “I need Zuko to teach me firebending.”

“We can find another way, Aang. We don’t have to resort to that.”

“Yes, we do. I don’t like it any more than you do, Katara, but we’re running out of options. I need every leg up on the Fire Lord that I can get—and we have his son right here. Maybe he knows some kind of weakness his father might have.” His logic makes sense, and she hates that it does. Ringing her hands nervously, she sighs out her agreement.

“Fine. But how are we supposed to make sure that he doesn’t attack you? If he uses lightning against you like Azula did, I…” She trails off, her jaw clenching tightly. Aang subtly cringes before he shakes his head.

“I don’t think Zuko can bend lightning. If he could, he would’ve used it before.” The rain seems to only get heavier, obscuring the view of the other wall of the canyon completely, “And if he tries to use firebending against me, I can take him. I have before.” There’s nothing else for Katara to say, only studying Aang for a moment before relenting.

“If this is what you think is right, I’ll go along with it. But if I think there’s even a chance that he’ll hurt you, I won’t hold back on him.” He smiles at her, affection and thanks all wrapped into one silent reply. She returns the smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll go talk to him about this. I was going to go check on him anyway.” She had been frequenting his cell more often as of late, Toph’s stunt with the door putting her on edge. It soothed her restless mind to reassure herself that he was still locked away, and as she walks down the hall towards his room, she breathes easier when she sees the solid wall of rock.

“Get your panties out of a bunch, I didn’t do anything.” Toph huffs, arms crossed over her chest and a dower expression on her lips.

“I need to see him.” Katara replies, “And I didn’t say you did anything. It just makes me nervous, thinking about what Zuko could do if he gets loose.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want him getting out and teaching Aang firebending. What a tragedy that’d be.” She punctuates her sentence by lowering the rock from Zuko’s doorway, fists coming to rest at her sides as she finishes the move. Katara can think of quite a few ways to respond to the earthbender, but she takes a deep breath instead. She needs to control herself and her temper. She won’t let Zuko’s presence make her a worse person.

She pauses mid-step when she sees Zuko. He’s settled on the edge of his bed, hunched over slightly with his hair falling into his eyes and shielding his face from her. His hands rest in his lap, fingers twitching painfully and she quickly realizes why. Coming closer, she sees the raw, inflamed skin of his wrists underneath the abrasive rope tying them together. He looks up at her, and she can see the restrained pain just behind his façade.

He raises a questioning brow, not saying anything but doing his best to hide his wrists between his knees. _Men_. She chides internally. _Too proud to admit they’re in pain._

“Your wrists.” She says, her tone being far softer than it had any right to be.

“I…have wrists, yes.” Zuko deflects, shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

“Let me see them.” Her tone shifts into something short, demanding.

“They’re _fine_. What do you want?” He doesn’t stand, instead pressing his knees together so they close over his forearms and block his wrists from her completely.

“Oh for the love of—” She reaches forward, her hands clasping his elbows and yanking to try to free his arms of his legs. He holds his arms firmly, though, eyes meeting hers tensely. It almost reads as a challenge, his jaw setting tightly as her brows furrow inwards, “Just let me see your wrists, Zuko!”

“Why do you care?” He spits back, bearing his teeth as he speaks.

“Because I can heal you and—unlike your people—we take care of others, even if they _are_ monsters.” She yanks again, her feet sliding along the floor until the toes of her shoes meet his.

“Oh, but you’re fine with starving people. That’s different?” Indignant rage and guilt pool in her stomach, and she feels a sudden embarrassing heat on her cheeks.

“I already apologized for that!” She’s less pulling on Zuko’s arms now and more holding his elbows, her fingers pressing into the firm mass where his biceps join his forearms.

“I don’t remember ever saying I forgave you.” She lets out an aggravated sigh before she sees the slight smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth. Was he _teasing_ her?

The fight suddenly abandons her, leaving her to truly understand the position she was in. Quite literally toe to toe with him, the upturned point of his nose nearly brushing hers as she grasps at his arms, their position is nearly an embrace. He seems to realize this at the same moment she does, his jaw suddenly going slack and eyes widening. She blinks, forcing herself to scowl and shove away from him. She can practically still feel his heated skin under her fingers and repeatedly clenches her fists.

“Fine. I don’t need you to forgive me.” She takes a large step back, perhaps giving him more space than necessary, “But I still need to see your wrists. You’re not any good to Aang if you die from some infection.” Zuko seems to still be in some kind of shock, watching her with a mix of bemusement and disbelief. She swears she can see pink tinting his cheek, but he quickly turns his head so only the impassive skin of his scar is visible to her.

“Does Aang want me to teach him?” He asks, taking a sudden interest in the opposite wall. His knees have gone slack, and she uses the opportunity to push his hands up.

“Yes. He’s decided to let you mentor him in firebending, despite what I think.” He tilts his head back to face her, watching her study his wrists. She purposefully refuses to meet his gaze.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got an infection.” He tugs his hands away from her, clenching his fists.

“I meant about the firebending. What do you think?” He finds it infinitely harder to read her when she won’t look him in the eyes.

“I think you’re going to hurt Aang.” She says bluntly, grabbing his hands again and holding them in between them. She uncaps the canteen at her hip, bending a thin stream of water out of it. Her eyes return to his for the first time since the awkward pseudo-embrace and he swallows heavily. Her gaze is a warning, and he realizes why she’s giving him one when she flicks her fingers upward and cuts the ropes with a precise jet of water.

The relief he feels shows on his face, his hands separating and his arms stretching over his head as he regains full range of movement. She gathers the water back into her hands, forming a small ball of liquid.

“Hold your hands still in front of you.” She instructs, “And don’t try to make any moves. I still won’t hold back on you just because I’m trying to heal you.” He offers his hands, sighing.

“I could’ve gotten out of the ropes at any time, you know.” The water between her hands starts to glow, illuminating the space between them, “I could’ve burned them off.” She brings her hands forward, coating them in the glowing water before gently encircling his wrists. The heat of infection combined with his high body temperature makes her nearly lose her grip on the water.

“Then why didn’t you?” She asks, only partially focused on speaking. Healing was always taxing, requiring a large amount of her attention and power as she tried to use her chi to heal others. Zuko’s chi seems to rise up to meet hers, though, sending an unfamiliar shiver through her.

“I wanted you to trust me. If I just burned off the restraints, you would’ve thought I was trying to escape.” He’s right, she knows he is, but she refuses to admit that. She changes the subject entirely.

“You’re taking to healing a lot better than I thought you would.” She says, feeling as if she’s reaching into Zuko’s very core as his chi works with hers to kill the infection and close the weeping wounds on his wrists. Perhaps this was something that occurred with all firebenders, she wouldn’t know, but it’s far too intimate for her comfort.

“I guess I am.” He answers, seeming to pick up on the shift in his chi and his tone becomes equally distracted. The water enveloping her hands seems to raise a few degrees, his fingers absently brushing against her arms and sending an entirely different shiver through her.

Amber clashes with sapphire, and she can’t look away. His eyes were that of the enemy, but beyond that, they were incredibly soulful and deep in a way she’d never noticed before. So much so that she feels she could spend the rest of her life looking into them and never quite reach the bottom. But the trance is broken when lightning crashes outside, and she feels the reflection of Zuko’s firebending in her hands. She can _feel_ the lightning in the atmosphere. She can feel the pull of the sun the way she normally felt the pull of the moon. As his brow climbs his forehead, she knows he can feel the opposite, the torrential downpour suddenly drawing him and the moon announcing its presence.

She drops the water and it soaks into his lap. He doesn’t seem to notice, frozen with his hands held limply in front of him.

This was too much.

It was all too much.

Neither of them knows how to respond to things they’ve felt, their respective elements returning to them the moment contact is broken, and they each try to say something but find words clogged in their throats. She staggers away from him, getting to her feet hurriedly. She doesn’t find more rope to bind his hands with, instead choosing to hurry from the room without so much as a glance backwards, thunder rolling in the distance.

* * *

 

Firebending calls to Zuko like an old friend, easing the tension out of his muscles and his mind as he finally uses his conflict for something constructive. Trailing the flame along behind his hand, he shifts his weight into his forward facing foot and flicks his wrist outwards. The heat plumes from his fist before it withers and dies in the air, and he lets out a calm breath. The fire feels symbolic, as if he’s releasing something dangerous within himself with it, and he feels physically lighter. That is, until Aang interrupts him for the third time in the space of half of a minute.

“That kind of looked like waterbending.” Zuko looks over at him, unable to hold back an indignant huff.

“It’s not.” That one moment of being able to sense the moon and the rain and even the tiny particles of water in the air had been intense and almost terrifying in how alien it was to him, “Firebending and waterbending are nothing alike.” Aang doesn’t seem to want to fight him on it, letting the subject drop, but Zuko’s impromptu guard speaks up.

“Yeah, I mean it’s not like splashing water around is anything like burning down buildings for fun.” Sokka says, sword held at his side leisurely.

“I didn’t burn them down for fun!” Zuko snaps, trying to convince himself that the way he stomps his foot in frustration is not akin to that of an inconvenienced child. Sokka raises a brow, watching the display with more amusement than Zuko would like.

“It was a joke. I do those sometimes. It’s kind of my thing.” Zuko feels an embarrassed flush rise to his cheeks, rubbing his neck.

“Oh. Sorry.” He’d never been very good with jokes, “Funny.” It’s all he can think to say, clearing his throat in the awkward silence, “A-Anyway, that’s probably one of the simplest firebending forms you can do. It’s just creating the fire and moving it from one place to another.” Despite his reassurance, Aang looks just as doubtful as he had when they’d started at dawn.

“It’s the creating fire part I’m having trouble with.” He says, looking down at his hands and flexing them, frowning deeply, “I’ve never actually made it from _nothing_. The one time I’ve done firebending, I ignited something else to make it.”

“That’s how most firebenders start off, but you need to be able to make it yourself. Fire is the only element that you have to create. Earth, water and air are things that exist already, and that you’re just using.” Zuko says, reciting the words calmly, “But fire is something personal. It’s a piece of yourself that you’re creating from nothing.”

“I never thought of it that way.” Aang says softly, watching as Zuko ignites a small flame over his palms.

“I didn’t either until recently.” Zuko replies, rolling his wrist in one practiced move that sends the flame curling outwards delicately, “I used to think of it like my father does, as a reflection of power, and that’s when it’s dangerous. That’s when firebenders become a threat to everyone around them. But as long as you keep in mind that fire has less to do with power, and more to do with harmony, you won’t hurt anyone, or yourself, accidentally.” He could practically hear when Iroh had told him these exact words. He’d been little more than a petulant child at the time, only interested in learning his sister’s far more advanced forms and had refused to listen to his Uncle, but he was thankful to remember these words. Now that he repeated them out loud, he could truly appreciate their wisdom.

“Is that why you burned Toph ‘accidentally?’” Katara’s voice suddenly chimes in, and it makes Zuko’s insides twist in an unfamiliar way. He sees her as she stands beside her brother, crossing her arms. They lock eyes for a long moment before he looks away and kills the fire midair.

“Accidents still happen.” He murmurs, “I was alone in the middle of the woods at night and couldn’t see whoever was sneaking up on me. Are you saying you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

“You’re asking if I would’ve burned her? Probably not.” She says snidely, and despite the usual venom in her voice, it sounds manufactured. He studies her closely, eyes roaming her entire form as he tries to decipher her. He doesn’t come away with much, her face being too impassive for him to gain anything substantial from, so he finds himself just truly taking in the entirety of her. He recalls the first time he’d ever seen her, having barely paid her any mind as he demanded her tribe hand over the Avatar, but he recalls just how young she’d looked. In the relatively short time since then, she’d grown into an entirely different woman. Powerful and terrifying, she’d become a woman with enough fire and spirit to rival any firebender. It was really quite beautiful. _She_ was beautiful.

A hand waves in front of his eyes, breaking his train of thought, and he realizes he’s been silently staring at Katara for several unbroken minutes.

“Do you want me to try making fire again, or…” Aang trails off, eying Zuko skeptically. The Prince clears his throat once again, but he can’t seem to dislodge the choked feeling there as his mind refuses to move past thoughts of the waterbender.

“What? Oh—Yes. Just uh—concentrate. Focus. Harmony and…firebending.” He’s barely coherent, he realizes, stumbling over his words without trying to form them into a proper sentence, “I-I mean—” Aang, along with Sokka and Katara, seem to be confused by his sudden inability to speak properly, but Aang moves past it.

“Yeah, I get it. I think.” Zuko tries to refocus, forcing his eyes to stay on Aang’s hands as he attempts to create fire, but once again his mind wanders. Katara’s hands had been deceptively soft on his wrists, hiding the raw power that existed within them that he’d experienced firsthand on more than one occasion. He wondered if the rest of her skin was that soft, and if it was all the same deep mocha color, or if it had darkened from the sun. His thoughts start spiraling in a direction that was certainly not safe, especially when the subject of his suddenly lewd thoughts a mere ten feet away.

This had to stop. He was here to help Aang, not fulfill some twisted fantasy that he shouldn’t even be having.

“I think we need to take a break.” Zuko says, trying to convince himself that he didn’t sound as desperate as he did, “We’ll continue training after lunch.” Aang agrees, or at least Zuko thinks he does, not really listening as he practically runs from the three of them. He knows he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere unaccompanied, but he’ll face the consequences for this later. He needed to be alone _now_ , away from Katara’s searing gaze on him that forced his mind into places it definitely shouldn’t be and had certainly never been before.

It was just his luck that Katara was the one who chased after him, cornering him in what must be a forgotten room for meditation with its high ceiling and gaping glassless windows that let the crisp air rush in. Despite the spacious airiness of the room, Zuko feels like he can’t breathe.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She demands, “Just because you’re teaching Aang doesn’t mean you get free roam now.” It was bad enough that she wouldn’t leave his head, could she at least not constantly pester him physically?

“I just need a minute. Do you mind?” Zuko says sharply, his back turned to her as he clenches his fists at his sides.

“Yes.” She doesn’t move, if anything, drawing closer to him. Why couldn’t she leave him _alone_? In his mind or physically, she was unraveling him in a way that terrified him to his core.

“ _Leave_.” He says, his tone a clear warning. He feels familiar heat prickle at his fingertips, itching to be released.

“You don’t get to order me around.” She’s closer still, barely a foot from him. He wants to both grab her and push her away.

“I need time to think. Just give me that.” Her hand clasps his shoulder, sending a bolt of _something_ through him that makes his entire body go stiff. It’s the final tipping point, something in him snapping as flame ignites around his fists. Before he can even process what his body is doing, he’s spinning to face her and whipping the fire in front of him in one devastating motion.

She hits the ground with a solid thud, and the fire around his hands dies as his blood runs cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZUTARA INTESIFIES. 
> 
> Jesus lord this chapter got really long, but I covered everything I wanted to in it and the action is starting to pick up finally. Comments are appreciated! If you like the story, please tell me, it's great motivation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the response to this has been great. The traffic to this story is really blowing me away, and I absolutely adore every single comment, especially the ones that tell me which parts of the story they liked the most. It kind of helps me figure out what’s working, and what’s not working so well. And also a note: If you go to my fan fiction.net profile ( https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1907242/ ), I have an estimate of the date the next chapter will be up. So if you want to know when updates are coming, check there.
> 
> Warnings: Blood/Violence. Welcome to the thunder dommmeeeee.

Katara’s fury comes in the form of violent whips of water and Zuko has no choice but to lash out in response. He tries to limit his firebending to only defensive tactics, but instincts start to push all reasonable thought out of his mind and force him to strike out at her offensively. She takes the burns without more than pained gasps, and as he tosses a solid blast of fire against her, she raises a wall of water from the nearby fountain that suddenly evaporates into steam.

Zuko can barely see through the sudden wall of precipitation, but he continuously throws up flames to try to deflect the jets of water that shoot through it before they can strike him. His fire grows weak, though, and as he struggles to draw in the thickening air, sweat beads along his brow. High humidity was one of a firebender’s greatest weaknesses, next to extreme cold, practically killing his flames before they even reached their peaks.

“ _Katara_ , will you just let me explain myself?” He calls out, waving out a weak band of flames that cuts through the steam just enough for him to see her form approaching him. He could see the irritated lines of pink, burnt skin on her arms and he did truly feel guilty for hurting her, but she’d taken this further than he’d ever meant it to go.

“What is there to explain? I knew you couldn’t change!” She makes a violent motion with her arms, and suddenly he feels the sweat being ripped from his brow along with the steam in the air until Katara has a massive ball of water following her command. He backs away from her cautiously, taking in a deep breath now that the air is more gas than liquid.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, it was—” The ball freezes and shatters, the shards hovering midair.

“An accident? You seem to have a lot of those, _Zuko_.” She spits his name like a curse, and as she pulls her arms back to propel the shards of ice at him, he finds his feet suddenly being yanked out from beneath him by shifting rubble. Any protective fire he could’ve made flickers out uselessly, the ice coming at him with full force. He feels the sudden chill of the ice shards prickling his skin, quickly joined by the contrasting heat of his blood. The ice numbs the wounds for a moment until his body burns them into steam and he feels the sting of the thin but deep wounds peppering his right side. Zuko pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, wiping blood from his cheek.

“I know.” He says, letting out a harsh breath through clenched teeth. He’s struggling with his instincts to fight her with everything in him, but he can’t risk escalating this any further. He had just started gaining the Avatar’s trust; he couldn’t lose that progress by hurting her any worse than he already had.

“So what’s the chances of them all really being accidents?” He’s never heard her so furious in all his time chasing them. She’s panting, fists clenched and shaking at her sides. The blood on Zuko’s skin moves unnaturally against gravity, sliding back from his ribs and along his back before it’s lifted into the air above him. He stares up at her in shock, watching the droplets of his blood that had been gathering on the ground suddenly stop in their descent and instead wind into the air. She was bending his blood as if it were any regular water, and he watches in horror as it hovers around her clenched hands and joins the water already gathering there. “You tried to trick me again, and I almost believed it for a second.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick y—” The mixture of blood and water splashes to the ground as Zuko tries to get to his feet and speak properly. Suddenly he can’t seem to push the air out of his lungs or shift his weight to stand. Every muscle and joint in his body locks up painfully, shuddering as something in him seems to twist and pull. His arms move without his command and crumple beneath him, sending him face first into the rough stone floor. His heart beats wildly in his chest as panic overtakes him, letting out a strained grunt as he tries to move any muscle in his body. His own limbs refuse to listen, his face being pulled from the stone only when his back jerks upright and straightens on its own, the feeling akin to being pulled about by strings attached to his bones. He finds himself sitting up on his knees with his arms pinning themselves behind his back in an unnatural way, the muscles in his arms jerking erratically and forcing his fingers to twitch with the muscle spasms racking the entirety of his captive body. He’d never heard of a waterbender having capabilities like _this._ He stares up at her in terror, chest heaving, and wonders if she was going to tear him apart from the inside.

“That’s _worse_!” She gestures angrily; seeming to forget her control over his every movement, sends his neck bending at an awkward angle and making him feel lightheaded. A shiver racks through his body as she rights his head with a slow twist of her arm, “Because then you really are just inherently evil, and you manipulate people without even knowing it!” She glares at him like she’s expecting an answer, but terror chokes him and he can only manage a few quick grunts of pain and fear.

The only part of his body he can move, his eyes, flick up to meet hers. She seems to be searching him for something, perhaps any sign of hatred or malice, but when she only finds unadulterated terror her features soften. She sees something in his gaze that suddenly extinguishes her rage and her arms fall to her sides limply. There’s a sudden rush as his blood is suddenly allowed to flow as it normally does, and he immediately finds himself crumpling into an undignified heap on the floor. His entire body is shaking; his muscles tingling and aching like a komodo rhino had trampled him. He draws in air in short, panicked gasps, finding his fingers stiff and starting to form deep purple bruises where the blood had pooled to hold his arms behind his back.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Zuko.” She says quietly, finally keeping her distance from him. He can’t see her, his back still arched in the same position she had left it in and his cheek pressed into the cool ground, but he can hear her sit heavily, “I didn’t mean to…to do that to you…it was—”

“An accident?” He asks breathlessly, still trying to pull sufficient air into his lungs. He dares to slowly twist himself into a sitting position, his muscles protesting as he does so. He reaches up to rub his neck sorely, feeling the tendons still twitching sporadically.

She doesn’t answer him verbally, the two of them sitting directly across from each other in an eerily still silence. In a strange, twisted way, this is the first time he’s really felt like he’s on even ground with her. The past, as complicated as it may be, doesn’t seem to matter as they sit opposite each other and take stock of the wounds patterning each of them. Burns and bruises made them equals. She’d used all the hate she held for him and his kind in her assault, and now she was truly spent of it. She could only look at the boy across from his as just another person.  

Zuko tenses as she suddenly collides with his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder. It’s an unfamiliar embrace, but, surprisingly, not an unwelcome one. He finds his hands settling on her back and holding her against him. Her shoulders shake, a sob ripping through her and her tears dampen the bloodied fabric of his tunic. Distantly, he knows he should be angry with her. He should harbor some kind of resentment for invading him so deeply as to turn his own body against him, but he can only feel sympathy for her.

It seems they were cut from the same cloth, turmoil and conflict between their powers and their hearts being their common factors. He understands her as well as he does himself, holding her long after her shaking stops and her tears dry. He won’t push her away, patiently waiting for her to decide when she wants to leave him, but that time doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon. She’s comforted by the heat rolling off of him in waves and the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear, the rise and fall of his chest with each steady breath bringing her a sense of calm that she never would’ve thought he could provide her. He tentatively considers that she _likes_ being close to him. Perhaps he was sturdy and warm and something to anchor her when she felt like she was going to be swept away by her own terrifying power and he liked the idea of being that for her.

Zuko shifts one of his hands on her back to settle in the wild locks of her hair, twirling it around his battered fingers. It was as soft as it looked, sliding through his fingers as he strokes the length of it. Her head pulls away from his shoulder and wide, misty eyes stare into his as she braces herself against his chest. He can feel the shallow breaths that leave her against his face, the distance between them frighteningly small as a shaking hand leaves her hair to brush a stray tear from her cheek.

Now that he’s this close, he can see there’s a tinge of pink, burnt skin across the inside of her cheek under his hand. He can feel the throbbing of forming bruises along his jaw. They were two violent, immovable forces of nature that collided explosively, yet it was addictive and pulled him to her, and she to him, like moth to a flame. His eyes flit down to the curves of her mouth, the hand on her cheek clasping her jaw and pulling her fractionally closer as he sits up to close the distance between them.

“I should go.” Katara whispers, and he can practically feel the words on his lips as her hand presses into his chest to halt his shift. His hand leaves her face, hovering near her like he’s physically unable to pull away from her completely.

“Yeah.” Is all he can choke out, his throat feeling tight. She climbs off of him quickly, walking away from him with shaky steps. As he stands as well, legs feeling like they were weighted down with sand, he sees her glance back at him.

He’s finally alone, but now he would give anything not to be.

* * *

That night, the full moon taunts Katara, sitting in the sky like a watchful gaze. It had been the middle of the day when she’d used bloodbending against Zuko, but she’d been well aware of the moon even when it wasn’t in the sky above them. It had fueled her hurt, rage and fear and turned it into something violent and terrifying. It had made her into a person she despised, and when she’d looked into Zuko’s terrified eyes, she’d seen her own twisted reflection in them.

Standing over him, the very blood in his veins at her command, she’d become the monster she’d accused him of being. Yet despite what she’d done to him, he hadn’t shied away when she’d sought comfort in his embrace. In fact, he’d done the exact opposite, holding her tightly as if she deserved any kindness from him.

Her heart speeds as she thinks of what had followed the kind embrace, the memory of his lips being just a hairsbreadth from meeting hers. It had taken every modicum of her restraint to push him away and leave before things got even more confusing and terrifying between them. She couldn’t be feeling these things for a man like him, and she certainly wasn’t supposed to want to be close to him with everything he’d done to all of them.

But hadn’t she done worse to him? She’d starved him, accused him, and manipulated him in a way that he had never even come close to doing to her or her friends. Bloodbending was invasive, grabbing hold of every blood cell in a body and twisting it with the motions of her bending. She’d felt his heartbeat pushing the blood with her, speeding in his chest with panic. But it hadn’t stopped her from wanting to use him, having quite the opposite effect and spurring her on further. She’d wanted to make his heart beat faster. She’d wanted to stop it entirely.

And she easily could have. She could’ve frozen his blood, or pulled all of it away from his brain and starved it of oxygen, and that’s what had scared her. It was so easy and tangible and only when she’d seen herself reflected in his eyes had she come to her senses. If she hadn’t paused to look at him like that, he would be dead. She would have killed him in the most violent way she knew how. And she was accusing _him_ of being the monster?

Katara’s train of thought immediately comes to a screeching halt when she realizes where she’d wandered in the daze of her own thoughts. She’s face to face with the wall of stone blocking Zuko’s doorway, her heart pounding hurriedly as she feels Zuko’s presence in the room. She can feel the way the blood flows in his veins, and how his heart beats steadily and calmly, but not slowly enough for him to be asleep. She frowns, realizing he must still be awake.

“Zuko?” She asks before she can stop herself, her voice carrying through the thin walls. She hears footfalls inside the room as he approaches the wall.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Zuko asks so softly that she strains to hear him, her ear pressing to the wall.

“I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.” She can’t be sure, but she thinks she might hear a bitter chuckle resonate from the wall.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Her fingers trace the nearly healed burns patterning her skin from his attacks unknowingly.

“I’m fine. I just need to know you’re okay.” A short sound, like something rubbing against the wall, followed by a thump, indicates Zuko sitting.

“A few aches and bruises, and I had a pretty bad nosebleed, but thankfully my fashion sense is pretty good at hiding bloodstains.” He says dryly, “Guilty conscience?”

“What?” She asks, settling on her knees.

“You feel bad about what happened.” It’s not phrased like a question, and she rubs her neck awkwardly, glad he can’t see the flush on her cheeks.

“I always feel bad when I do that. The person I am when I bloodbend—it’s not me. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Silence follows for long enough that she wonders if Zuko has fallen asleep. Feeling for his heartbeat, she finds that his blood is still flowing too quickly to indicate unconsciousness.

“It’s only fair. You’ve seen me at my worst. Multiple times.” She can hear the pained smile in his voice, “And now I’ve seen yours. Would I be overstepping my boundaries by saying we’re even?” She pouts, picking at the stone beneath her and pulling back with dust coating her fingers.

“I’m not so sure about that. I didn’t chase you around the world and try to capture your best friend.” It’s meant as somewhat of a joke, but the atmosphere suddenly turns tense.

“You can’t capture someone who doesn’t exist.” Again, his words are quiet, but now it’s less fatigue and more his unwillingness to share a part of himself.

“You don’t have a best friend?”

“No. I don’t really have friends at all.”

“Stop being dramatic.” He shifts, the sound of his head thumping back against the wall in frustration clear for her to interpret.

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being honest. I don’t have friends. I’ve never been very good at making friends.” He pauses, thinking, “Azula had Mai and Ty Lee, and I would play with them sometimes, but they were always _her_ friends. I was content to spend all my time with my mother. Which sounds kind of pathetic now that I say it out loud.” She finds herself giggling— _giggling,_ of all things—and shaking her head as if he could see the movement.

“It’s not pathetic. It’s kind of cute.” He scoffs at her response, and she can hear him turning to face the wall like he can look at her.

“I am not _cute_.” 

“I never said _you_ were cute. I said the thought was cute.” He trips over his words a bit before he can respond.

“W-Well good. Because I’m not.” She smiles at the floor, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. Something about the stillness of the night and the banality of the conversation made this all seem so _normal_ , as if she’d known Zuko for as long as she’d known any of her friends back home. Some strong part of her still wants to hate him, tearing open old wounds and demanding her attention, but the more she learned about him, the quieter that part of herself got.

Now that voice was slowly being replaced with a different one. This one mused about the softness of his unscarred skin, and the way his eyes gleamed in the sunlight like they’d caught some of the energy itself and locked it in those golden depths. It wondered what it would have felt like to kiss him, and how different it would’ve been than kissing Aang. Would he be gentle with her? Would he be strong and forceful like his brash nature?

“Katara? Are you still there?” He asks, and she realizes she hasn’t said anything in quite some time. She wonders why she’s still sitting here at all, when she hadn’t even meant to come here in the first place.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t be, though. It’s pretty late.” She’s giving herself an out, a way to leave before the butterflies in her gut get any more obnoxious, but she can’t seem to get to her feet.

“It is.” He responds simply. She wishes she could see his face so she could decode the emotions buried behind those two short syllables. He’s feeling something as complicated as she is, and that thought makes warmth blossom deep within her.

“I’m going to go back to bed.” She says to the wall, fingers idly toying with her skirts now.

“Goodnight.” Zuko murmurs and she hears him stand slowly, his movements stiffer and slower than they normally were, before crossing the room and settling on his cot. She still doesn’t move though, staring into the grains of the wood before her and feeling the flow of Zuko’s blood slow incrementally as he falls asleep. Something about the regularity of it soothes her as she follows it through his heart and around his body; having the effect of white noise and making her eyelids feel heavy.

She braces herself against the wall and lets sleep finally take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM. Okay so I’ve been wanting to involve bloodbending since I first thought up this AU. It kind of connects with the chi-combined healing earlier as in Katara reaching inside him spiritually before reaching inside of him physically y’dig? Smarm smarm symbolism symbolism.   
> And I know some of you are getting impatient for the adult rated stuff but give it time. It’s coming, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expedition for supplies is arranged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow, I was concerned people wouldn’t like the turn I took with bloodbending but here we are. I’m really glad it didn’t come off as forced or anything y’know? Anyway, welcome to chapter 5, we are officially halfway through this adventure.

Zuko doesn’t see Katara for days, the bruises from their violent encounter fading and yellowing as he manages to avoid her and focus on the other members of the group that were far less confusing. None of them seemed to know about their battle, but Zuko was still on edge. If they found out he had hurt her, there was no telling what kind of progress he would lose. Aang had just started to get comfortable around him, and Sokka was even making an effort to joke with him the same way he did with the others. Toph was generally confusing in her stoicism as to how she regarded Zuko, but he assumed he was on good terms with her by the lack of malice. He was finally making, what he hesitantly called, _friends._

Which raised the question, why hadn’t she told them? He considers her guilt over bending his blood, but surely her friends wouldn’t turn on her for something like that. From what he’d seen, their friendship was unconditional, and he could never imagine any of them reacting negatively towards her because she did something less than honorable. He comes to the possible conclusion that it was because she didn’t want him to lose his progress. He had far more to lose if they found out about their fight, and she knew it, yet she wasn’t using it against him, because she cared as much as he did about his relationships with her friends. It’s such a ludicrous thought that Zuko tosses it out as soon as it passes through his mind.

“Is she blackmailing me?” He considers out loud, pacing his room restlessly as he thinks. Perhaps that was the case. She couldn’t be keeping this a secret out of kindness or some kind of affection for him, so the only option left was that she was using this to be sure she had complete power over him.

“What does she want from me?” He asks himself. He had nothing to give her beyond a few artifacts he’d stolen from the palace when he’d left. He’d be happy to give those to her, and she could trade them for goods in any marketplace that knew their value, but beyond that he had nothing. He was already offering his services as—he groans— _Sifu Hotman_ free of charge, and he wasn’t putting up a fight to their confinement of him.

“Will you stop pacing? You’re making so much noise I can’t hear myself think.” Toph growls from the other side of the stone wall in his doorway. He pauses, confused. He’d always had a particularly light step, and aside from his sporadic noises of concern and confusion as he spoke to himself, he was being practically silent. How did she even know he was pacing?

“How did you—”

“I can feel you pacing, and you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep doing it. What are you so nervous about?” The stone lowers swiftly, bringing the girl’s relaxed form into view. He sees her leaning back against the opposite wall, arms crossed and feet planted firmly against the ground as she crosses her arms.

“Is that how you see?” He ignores her question completely.

“Through my feet, yeah. I feel the vibrations from you wearing a hole in the floor and talking to yourself.” Zuko clears his throat awkwardly as she speaks; “Now I asked you a question. What are you all flustered about? Was it your little scuffle with the Ice Queen?” He gapes, tripping over his words as he tries to speak.

“What? How—” Had Katara told someone after all? If Toph was angry, he couldn’t tell.

“Save it. I already told you I can feel the things happening around me.” He’s silent, not entirely sure how to respond, “I saw the whole thing, so to speak. Katara kicked your butt.” He huffs indignantly.

“She cheated.” Zuko murmurs, his pride taking a hit, even if it shouldn’t have, “Why aren’t you mad? I hurt your friend.”

“She needed some sense knocked into her. She’s been treating you like dirt since you got here, so I kind of thought it was only fair.” Toph was different from the rest of the group, obviously, and it confused the Prince to no end. He was never sure what to expect from her, and her cunning and bold nature were at odds with her small stature, “Don’t think that’s me giving you permission to do it again, though. You were entitled to one, and that’s it.”

“No, you don’t get it. She didn’t owe me anything, not after the things I’ve done. She had every right to treat me the way she did, but I’m hoping we can move past it now that all that aggression was let out.” Zuko says, wondering how much of that he meant. The thought of moving past the things he’d done was little more than a fantasy, and a depressingly unrealistic one at that.

“I’m not sure that’s how this works, Sparky.” Zuko shoots her an annoyed glare, “Beating each other up isn’t really recommended therapy. If it was, I’d be a great therapist.” Her joke falls on deaf ears, Zuko too caught up in his own turmoil to even fake a laugh. He doesn’t realize she’s walked into his room until she pokes him in the chest so hard that it sends him staggering backwards.

“ _Lighten up,_ will you? You’re depressing me just by standing near you. I don’t think hurting each other is going to help you guys, but I think if you just relax and get all of this bad blood out, you’ll be better off.” Toph states bluntly. Zuko can’t help but rub the spot on his chest where she’d poked him, frowning.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Zuko snaps, his tone more aggressive than he’d meant it to be.

“First things first, you two need to be alone—like, _alone_ alone. Part of Katara’s problem is that she’s established how much she’s supposed to hate you. She’s as stubborn as I am, so she’s going to try to stick to the stance she’s decided on just to keep her word. If she gets to know you away from all of us, she’ll be quicker to at least hear you out because she won’t need to prove to anyone that she really hates you.” Zuko’s stomach twists and heat rises to his cheeks at the thought of the last time they’d been alone in the same room. He’d almost kissed her, and had practically tasted her on his lips. He’d felt each movement of her mouth as her quivering voice had announced her egress. He has to swallow heavily to speak.

“Katara would never go anywhere alone with me.” He doesn’t trust his restraint around her, and he wasn’t sure if she trusted herself either, yet Toph thought it was a good idea for them to be alone together. Zuko continues to be mystified by how the earthbender’s mind works.

“We’re pretty much out of food, so she was already planning on going to a market. You could go with her.” Zuko scoffs, shaking his head and absently wondering just how many of his gestures she could actually sense.

“She’d never let me.”

“Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like she’s kind of given herself the job as your warden. She won’t want to leave you alone with us, so she’ll take you along. Trust me.” She seems to be finished with the conversation, turning swiftly on her heel and trotting out of the room without a proper goodbye.

“You’re not a bad therapist, you know.” He says jokingly as she positions her hands in front of her, prepared to lift the rock blockade once again. A smile crosses her lips.

“I know.” The stone rises, isolating him once again, and he sits on the edge of the bed, tracing the pale scars on his wrists with his thumb.

* * *

Appa was a beast that rivaled any other that Zuko had seen. When he’d freed him in Ba Sing Se, it had been dim and cramped, but in this open space the bison seems to be infinitely larger now that he could take in the entirety of him. He’d so rarely gotten this close to the beast that touching him now was foreign.

“Are you coming or not?” Katara asks, settling in the saddle as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her words are sharp, but he can easily tell that she was struggling to keep her tone aggressive. Zuko chooses not to respond, instead taking fistfuls of coarse fur in his hands to propel himself up the side of Appa and into the saddle. It’s spacious, with more than enough room for the two of them, and the leather of the saddle is comfortable enough to sit on. He scoots as far as possible from Katara, sitting at the very back of the saddle.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come, Katara?” Aang asks, gripping his glider nervously.

 “Yes. We don’t want to give them any hint as to where you are. The Fire Lord will have sent out as many soldiers as possible looking for you, and I don’t think a headband is going to throw them off this time.” He taps the glider against the ground, fidgeting.

“And Zuko’s _face_ is less recognizable?” Zuko grits his teeth, a familiar flash of anger boiling to life in his gut, but before he can say anything, Katara speaks.

“Less people will be looking for him. He may be wanted, but he’s not their priority.” The airbender seems somewhat satisfied by her answer, reaching a hand out to affectionately pat the bison on his nose.

“I guess…just be careful, okay?” Katara’s features soften as a smile crosses her lips, and Zuko watches the gaze they share with intrigue.

“I will be. Don’t worry about me.” Aang smiles back at her, the same softness in his own smile. The Prince suddenly feels like he’s intruding on an intimately private moment, eyes flickering away from them to watch a flock of birds swoop through the canyon. Suddenly his confusing feelings for Katara turn to heavy guilt in his core, making heat wash through him.

He’s jolted when Appa rises from the ground, air rushing past them and pushing the unruly hair out of his eyes. He sits up to look down at the ground receding from them. He’d never had a fear of heights, but he still grips the saddle more tightly. Once they’re too high to see anything of meaning on the ground below, Zuko turns his attention back to Katara. She sits in the very front of the saddle, facing away from him and holding the massive reigns in her hands loosely.

There’s no sound but the rushing of wind between them for longer than Zuko can keep track of. He notes that the sun has crept across the sky and has started to descend once land starts reappearing beneath them, and still not a word has been said.

“What do we need to get at the market?” Zuko asks, his words feeling deafening despite the fact that the howl of the wind practically drowns them out. He wonders if she’d heard him, her gaze staying straight ahead.

“Food.” She answers stiffly. He realizes now that her tone with him hadn’t been forced anger, but awkward uncertainty forced through the lens of annoyance. This was the first time they were face to face, without a wall in between them, since he’d nearly kissed her. He considers that she’s as confused as he is, but the way she’d looked at Aang came back to the forefront of his mind. The affection in their shared gaze didn’t lie, and it displayed something deeper than the confusing, tenuous connection she was forming with Zuko.

“Are you and the Avatar a… _thing_?” He wonders who spoke until he realizes those had been his words that had slipped past his lips without thought. He hopes she’ll miss what he said, but her head suddenly whips around to look at him.

“ _What?_ Why would you even ask something like that?” She yells, throwing down the reigns, “That’s none of your business!” Zuko sits back against the saddle, frowning deeply as he sees the pink on her cheeks. Something burns inside of him, stronger than hatred but a different feeling entirely. _Jealousy_.

“Will you calm down? It was just a simple question, and you answered it anyway.” He growls out the end of his sentence, looking at the distant mountain ranges instead of at the waterbender. He had no claim to her, he wasn’t even sure what he _was_ in her eyes, but still jealousy makes his jaw clench and his breath come out in an angry plume of steam that’s whisked away as soon as it leaves him.

“Are you—are you _jealous_?” The wind dies down as Appa starts to slow, more leisurely gliding through the air now that no one is telling him where he’s meant to go.

“ _No_.” Zuko hisses, standing now that he’s sure the wind won’t knock him back down.

“You have no reason to be jealous!” He wants to bring up the near-kiss, but he chokes it down in favor of a wordless growl.

“I said I’m _not._ If you want to distract Aang from taking my father down, that’s your problem. I don’t care.” She steps towards him, fists clenched at her sides. So close. Why was she always so _close_ to him?

“No, what’s ‘ _not your problem’_ is my love life because you aren’t involved in it.” She sounds so sure, but when he searches her eyes, there’s uncertainty. She’s desperately hoping he doesn’t see the tidal wave of conflict being held back by just her wavering thoughts. She knows how close they are and he watches her swallow nervously.

“Katara, you know this isn’t that simple—” He’s cut off when she turns away from him, grabbing Appa’s reigns once more as they start to get lower to the ground.

“Yes, it is. It is that simple.” He steps closer to her, reaching a hand out to brush her shoulder. She tenses as soon as he touches her, the reigns suddenly flicking against Appa and signaling to the animal to speed up. It forces Zuko to stagger backwards and his hand falls off of her shoulder.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it has to be.”

* * *

The market is swarming with Fire Nation soldiers. Some are in full uniform and standing at attention at various points throughout the space, while others are dressed to blend in with the Earth Kingdom citizens. Though Zuko instantly recognizes them as his nationality by just glancing at their faces. The cloak over his head—made of cheap, dirty fabric that made him look more like a beggar than he’d like—covered his identifying scar, but he was still on edge, his bound hands itching to be held at his sides and prepared to strike.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Zuko murmurs, walking close enough to Katara that his shoulder brushes hers. She sidesteps away from him, shooting him a glare.

“We’ve got no other choice. The next market is too far away and we need to be back before nightfall.” She stops him by tugging on his cloak, pulling him with her towards a booth that’s caught her attention. Zuko lets out an aggravated noise, brushing his hair into his eyes as he looks down at the merchant’s counter.

“That doesn’t matter, we can set up camp overnight. There’s too many soldiers here, someone is going to recognize us.” Katara has made an attempt at disguising herself as well, wearing a cloak that matches his, but anyone looking at her face could tell she didn’t belong here, and she didn’t have bangs like he did to hide most of her face.

“They will if you keep whispering like a fugitive.” Katara hisses at him, her elbow sinking roughly into his ribs.

“I _am_ a fugitive.” He growls back, jutting his elbow out in what he pretends isn’t revenge.

“Why don’t you say that a little louder? I don’t think some otter penguins in the South Pole heard you.” She shoves him away from her, moving to the other end of the counter. He follows her, staying close enough to whisper.

“Funny, but this isn’t the time for jokes. Do you know what my father will to do us if he finds us? Something tells me he’s not in a forgiving mood.” She seems annoyed by his persistence, moving on from the merchant and traveling to the one across the aisle. Again, he follows.

“Probably not. I bet he’ll even ground you.” Zuko practically chokes on his anger, fists clenching beneath his cloak.

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?” She spots a large basket of rice, wandering over to it leisurely. Zuko follows, shoulders hunched tightly as he hangs his head. A soldier nods to him as he passes by, and the Prince returns the gesture stiffly.

“Because I’ve done this before. We were in the Fire Nation for a long time before the eclipse. I know how to blend.” She studies the quality of the rice, shifting the grains to inspect them.

“I know how to blend.” Zuko retorts.

“Could’ve fooled me, you’re stiff as a board.” She interrupts herself to ask the merchant the price. The number is extravagantly high, more than Katara has on her, and Zuko digs in his bag for a chain of gold stashed at the bottom. He sets on the counter.

“It’s real.” He says, “Pure gold. It’s worth more than your price, but if you let us take the basket it with it, we have a deal.” The merchant seems skeptical, tugging and twisting the chain in the light. He then catches sight of the pendent clasped in the center. The symbol for the Fire Nation Royal Family is engraved upon it, and the merchant obviously knows how valuable that makes it. He nods, pocketing the jewelry.

“It’s yours.” Zuko murmurs his thanks and Katara quickly gathers up the basket, hefting it into her arms. As they walk away, she notices Zuko’s sudden stoicism.

“Where did you get that bracelet?” She asks, trying to see his face past the thin fabric of his cloak.

“I took it with me when I left the palace.” Zuko smiles bitterly, “It was a gift from my father.” He’d tried to convince himself that he had taken it for purely practical purposes, the gold being worth enough to buy him any food he needed, but something sentimental in him had also wanted to cling to the happy days that that trinket had represented. It was only once the bracelet was gone, it’s miniscule weight deducted from his bag, that he realizes the symbolic tether it was to the family he had to leave behind to be the man he wanted to be.

“And you traded it for rice?” Katara asks, her voice soft and struggling to carry over the buzz of the evening crowd.

“The rice is worth more to me.” She seems confused, shifting the basket of rice in her arms as if she’s reconsidering the purchase. He takes it from her with a bit of struggle, the awkward positioning of his bound hands making it difficult to slide the sealed basket into his bag.

“You didn’t have to do that—” A jet of fire interrupts her and Zuko barely avoids getting burned by it, the fringe of his cloak sparking before fizzling into smoke. He spins to face the unknown threat, and his heart jumps into his throat, pounding wildly. He sees the terrifying form of his father for just a fraction of a second before reality comes back into focus, and it morphs into that of a soldier.

“That’s them!” A voice calls out from behind the soldier and the light catches the gold in the intruder’s hand as he pushes past the firebender. Zuko growls as he realizes that the merchant had made the connection between his face and the pendant, the rope on his wrists smoking before burning away. He would give anything to be able to light the merchant ablaze, but Katara grabs his hand and yanks him away before the soldier can even fire a second barrage at them.

“Where are we going?” He calls out as Katara leads him towards the entrance they’d come through before more uniformed forms block it and she suddenly changes her path to run in the opposite direction. He struggles to keep up with her as the heavy basket of rice collides with his hip with each step.

“I don’t know!” She yells back, the sound of hurried footfalls seeming to grow stronger the further they ran. More and more soldiers were closing in on them, blocking off pathways as they approach and forcing Katara to suddenly skid on her heel before taking off in a different direction. Zuko yanks her hand, pulling her back against him as he feels the air spark to life, a telltale sign of impending fire. Flames explode from the intersecting alleyway they had been about to turn down and the soldier reveals himself as he stalks towards them. He’s powerfully built, standing a full head higher than Zuko, but that doesn’t deter either of the pair.

Katara is quick to whip out a stream of water from the canteen on her hip, and Zuko’s flames spur to life around his fists in much the same motion. To any observer, they would appear to be practicing something well trained, coordinated, but they strike independently of each other. Katara’s water flies towards the threat and Zuko’s powerful flames intersect the stream as he releases his own attack. The result is an explosive plume of searing steam that scorches the assailant’s face. The massive form doubles over and claws at his skin, screeching in agony.

Zuko and Katara lock eyes for only a fleeting moment before they take the opportunity for escape. They disappear into the shadowed alleyway that the soldier had been hiding in, finding the opening to a long forgotten storage shed tucked into one of the buildings lining the alley. They find it locked, but using the residual water in her canteen, Katara easily freezes the lock and shatters it. The door swings open, allowing the two entrance. When they duck inside, the only sound is their hurried breaths, which instantly halt as they hear the injured soldier stumbling down the alley. Zuko dares to peek through the slender crack between the door and its frame, seeing the hulking soldier stumble blindly past their hiding place. Zuko can just barely make out the details of the man’s face, finding ugly patches of freshly burned skin patterning it and irritated tears falling from hazy eyes.

Neither of them dares to break the tense silence, Zuko keeping his right eye trained on the crack of the door. He slowly slumps to his knees after nearly half an hour, rubbing his eye tiredly.

“I think we lost them.” Zuko says, whispering despite his reassurance, “But the sun is setting and we barely found our way around this place in daylight.”

“I don’t know if that counts as finding our way around.” Katara responds. He can’t see her in the quickly diminishing light and he doesn’t dare to light a flame in case it draws attention from a passerby, but he can hear her sitting heavily.

“We should wait until morning to leave.” Zuko ignores her reply entirely, lost in his own thoughts, “If we can wait for the morning rush at the market, we can sneak through it unnoticed. If we leave now, they’ll be expecting us and we’ll probably walk into an ambush.” For once, she doesn’t fight him.

“You’re right.” Katara sighs, her fingers brushing his knees as she tries to establish where he is in the darkness. His hand finds hers, lifting it from his knee.

“What you did out there was impressive.” He’d meant to let her hand go, but he finds himself holding it tighter. Her hand shifts in his, but, surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away.

“It was a team effort.” He wishes he could see the smile he hears in her voice because it’s infectious, forcing his lips to pull back into a grin.

“Fifty-fifty?” She laughs, her index finger tapping his palm.

“Sixty-forty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN. THIS GOT. SO. L O N G.  
> That’s why this took so long, guys, sorry about that. It’s finally reaching the climax of the story, which I’ve been planning on doing forever and a half, but the set up was more elaborate than I planned. I really wanted it all to make sense and not seem rushed, I hope it worked. Comments and reviews and all that jazzzzz.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the market is harder than anticipated.

“ _Zuko_. _"_

His name is whispered so softly that he isn’t sure if he imagined it or not. It’s only when he sluggishly opens his eyes and sees Katara directly above him that he realizes she’d actually spoken to him.

“Zuko, wake up.” Katara is huddled close to him, the short gusts of her breath brushing his face as she whispers, “We have to go.” It’s still pitch black in their small shed, he notes, turning his head to look over at the door. If it were morning, the sunrise would have started to show through the cracks in the door.

“Not morning yet.” Zuko mumbles. Sleep still weighs heavily on his lids and urges him to return to his surprisingly peaceful slumber.

“I know, but we have to go _now_.” She urges, gripping his shoulders and wrenching him into a sitting position. He groans, rubbing his face with a yawn. His muscles feel stiff, the hard wood floor of their hiding place having done him no favors as a bed, and he tries to stretch to work out some of the kinks.

“Why?” He asks, looking for her in the darkness as she moves away from him.

“I heard Appa.” Zuko doesn’t immediately register what she means, frowning as he rubs his sore neck, “I think the soldiers found him. We need to go make sure he’s safe.” Katara crosses the short distance to the door and leaves before he can even respond. He blinks after her, quickly staggering to his feet and gathering his bag. He then searches the room somewhat blindly for his cloak, but as Katara’s footsteps fade, he abandons it and rushes from the room.

“Katara?” He calls as he stumbles out into the soft moonlight. The alleyway is deserted and eerily silent, offering him no clues as to where she had disappeared. He recalls which way he’d heard her go, though, and starts running in that direction.

“Katar—” A hand suddenly clasps over his mouth as its opposite grabs the back of his tunic and yanks back. Zuko instinctively tenses, his hands clenching into fists that birth flames. He attempts to twist to strike his attacker, but a knee slams into his back before he can fully turn and knocks the breath out of him. The fire on his fist dies as he struggles to catch his breath. Zuko feels his wrists being yanked behind his back and held in one massive hand while the other stays firmly planted on his mouth.

“I bet you thought you were real clever with your little steam trick.” A rough voice growls into his ear, the hand over his mouth pressing hard enough to make Zuko groan in protest. He can’t pull in any kind of air as the man’s fingers press over his nose and mouth, refusing him the ability to breathe, let alone free himself, “I’ll give it to you, it was pretty crafty. But parlor tricks aren’t going to save you now, _Prince Zuko_.” Zuko makes a last ditch effort to fight the soldier, thrashing in the steel grip and kicking backwards blindly in hopes of striking one of the man’s legs. The soldier seems to be expecting it, though, shifting his leg just in time to dodge Zuko’s heel before he uses the Prince’s momentum to force his legs apart as his feet return to the ground. It leaves Zuko in an awkwardly wide and unbalanced stance, chest heaving as he tries to pull in the tiny amounts of air that could pass through the soldier’s fingers.

“See, now you’re just embarrassing yourself.” His voice is distorted, black spots starting to form in Zuko’s vision, “Don’t you want to die with some _honor_?” His brow shoots upwards in surprise and he makes a noise of confusion against the soldier’s hand. The man’s chest is pressed into Zuko’s back, so he feels more than hears the deep chuckle that resonates from his assailant.

“What, you thought the Fire Lord wanted you alive? He doesn’t want you in chains, kid, he wants you in a _body bag_.” Zuko’s blood runs cold, blinking rapidly as he tries to stay conscious, “And as for your little friend? I’m sure he’ll find a use for her. She’s got some good curves on her.” Fury gives Zuko a second wind, snarling against the hand clasped over his mouth. He barely has the energy to struggle, but he does, because this isn’t just about him anymore. This is about _Katara_ and that fact pushes Zuko past his own limits. Heat rushes to Zuko’s hands and his skin blisters with the intensity of it, but it accomplishes his goal of freeing his wrists as the soldier cries out in pain.

With his hands freed, he lashes out and lands a solid strike against the man’s ribs. The soldier wheezes, his remaining hand falling from Zuko’s mouth as he staggers backwards. Zuko takes a moment to pull in a full breath, his senses returning with full clarity. 

“You little brat—” He hisses and Zuko growls, spinning to face him and catching his fist before he can land the punch on the Prince. He finally gets a good look at the soldier, his face heavily bandaged and swollen, but his eyes aren’t dimmed in the slightest. He looks at Zuko with nothing but unbridled rage as Zuko tosses his hand aside and kicks him in the chest, sending him sprawling out into the center of the alleyway.

“You can tell my father—” Zuko presses his heel into the soldier’s throat, bending down and leaning his weight into it, “—that if he wants me, dead or alive, he can come and get me himself.” That familiar cold-blooded fury that he had so often used in the beginning of his banishment courses through his veins and hangs on every syllable. For a moment, he’s the villain he had once been, and the shock and terror the soldier is experiencing as Zuko just barely avoids crushing his windpipe is clear in his wide eyes. 

“Understood?” Zuko asks, glaring down at him as he receives nothing but silence. He presses down more firmly, causing the soldier to gag and choke, “That wasn’t rhetorical.” He doesn’t see if the man responds, his attention being drawn elsewhere as the water from a nearby puddle lifts off the ground and gathers around his prey’s arms and legs. It quickly freezes, pinning him where he lie.

“Zuko.” Katara says as she approaches from the shadows. In the height of his rage, he almost forgets where he is—and who the enemy really was—his fists clenching tightly as he lifts his heel off of the man’s throat and faces Katara, prepared for a fight. All of his righteous indignation suddenly dies when he sees the way she looks at him, though. She’s approaching him carefully, her steps as light as possible and a hand hovering at her hip over her canteen. His fists unclench, the fight leaving him. She was _afraid_ of him.

“Katara.” He raises his hands, holding his palms out to her in the most nonthreatening way possible. It seems to put her somewhat at ease, “We should go.” He wants to say a thousand things to her, but that’s all he can choke out.

“Let’s go.” She answers, her words hiding just as much as his.

* * *

 

Katara had somehow tricked herself into forgetting what a violent force Zuko is. Seeing him pinning down the hulking soldier from the day before like a cat owl toying with a mouse was like being brought back in time. Everything from his posture down to how he’d spoken his words had reminded her of the petulant boy they’d met in the very beginning, and it was the wake up call she needed to remind herself that that boy and this man were the same person. The cruelty that had lived in him then was still there, but it was somewhere deeper now. Hidden under diction and niceties, Zuko had the capacity to be truly terrifying.

And still, even knowing that, she finds herself walking closely enough to him that she feels the heat rolling off of him in waves. She can’t make herself care about what she’d seen when she was just happy to see that he was okay. It was hard to admit to herself, but she’d been genuinely scared for his safety when she’d looked back to find he hadn’t followed her. Her entire run back had been filled with thoughts of the worst possible scenario, and she’d broken into a cold sweat at the thought of Zuko being injured or—worse. But he seemed to have been able to handle himself, only coming away with some burns and blistering on his hands and wrists.

“Wait.” Zuko bends down to scoop up something; turning it over in his hands gingerly, “Flash bombs casings.” He says as he walks around Appa and picks up several more of the small silver objects. Katara follows him, taking one of the casings from his hand and studying it. It was Fire Nation engineering at its finest, the thin metal casing being made of expensive steel and engraved with tiny characters indicating its make.

“Why would they use these on Appa?” She asks, looking to the bison. He seemed somewhat aggravated and shaken, but was otherwise unharmed.

“They wanted to draw us out of hiding.” Zuko tosses the shells aside, wiping his hand on his tunic before he cringes, the rough fabric worrying his blisters, “They’re mostly harmless. Appa won’t be able to see very well for a few hours, but he’ll be fine.” 

“I guess that means he won’t be flying any time soon.” Katara sighs out, gently stroking the bison’s cheek. He lets out a groan, blinking repeatedly as he tries to make out her form. She doesn’t know if this is something she can heal, and she’s never tried her abilities on non-humans, so she decides to let him recover naturally.

“Not unless he can fly blindly.” Zuko answers, keeping his distance from the two of them as he rounds the clearing. Appa wasn’t very far outside of the town, and the flash bombs had most likely been the work of the vengeful soldier that had attacked him, but he still considered the possibility of an ambush. After circling the clearing several more times and coming back with nothing to support his fears, he seems to have decided that the other soldiers had given up on their pursuit hours ago.

“I think he can, but he probably won’t.” Katara says as she scales Appa’s side and settles in the saddle. She looks back and finds Zuko watching her from the ground curiously.

“So why are you up there?” He asks, and she leans over the edge of the saddle to look down at him.

“The saddle is more comfortable than the ground. We can get a few more hours of sleep here.” She digs through the travel compartment in the saddle, pulling out some of her spare clothing that she’d packed for emergencies. She hears Zuko climb into the saddle and set down his bag heavily, “You still have the rice?” He nods, sitting on the far end of the saddle.

“I think we need to talk.” Zuko says solemnly as Katara tucks the clothes into what can generously be called a pillow.

“About rice?” She asks with a slight smirk, setting the pillow down and sitting back against it.

“About us.” He responds, his tone and face grim, “And what you saw back there.” She pulls her knees up to her chest defensively, looking him over from head to toe.

“I don’t want to talk about that. About us, or what I saw. I don’t care what I saw.” 

“But what about us?” Zuko prods, and crawls closer because he has to practically yell with how far apart they are. She wishes she could back away from him without climbing on top of Appa’s head. He settles at arms length from her on his knees.

“There is no _us.”_ She snaps, extending her legs to push him back and put up a minimum distance between them, “There has never been an us. There never will be an us.” Even she can tell how fake her words sound as she speaks them. She can’t fully commit herself to such a sentiment when all she can do is focus on the way he looks at her and how badly she wants to just _touch_ him— _where did that come from?_

“I don’t mean it like that. I’m not saying there’s anything…more going on between us. I just want to know what we are.” Zuko is obviously struggling to express his thoughts on the matter, motioning nonsense gestures with his injured hands, “I know we aren’t friends, and we’re not still enemies. But if we’re neither of those, what else does that leave?” She refuses to look at him, picking at a stray thread on her skirt in a now common nervous gesture.

“Who said we aren’t enemies?” She continues staring at the threads on her skirt, waiting for his reply, but it doesn’t come. She finally looks up, seeing something she hadn’t expected in the slightest. _Hurt_. He was hurt, angry and frustrated, his jaw clenching tightly and his brow furrowing.

“What do you want from me, Katara?” He asks, crawling forward once again and breaching the barrier she’d set up with her legs. Her heart pounds in her throat as his hands settle on either side of her hips, bracing him less than a foot from her. His knees are between her calves, unintentionally pinning her skirt to the saddle and preventing her from fleeing like she wants to because the fluttering in her stomach is undeniable now.

“What kind of penance do you want me to pay for what I’ve done?” He asks, his eyes smoldering like boiling lava and boring into hers, “Or is it just who I was or…am, I guess. I know I’m everything you hate, but this can’t be a lost cause. I won’t let it be.” She makes several attempts at responding, eyes flicking between his scar, his mouth, his clenched jaw—anywhere but those intense eyes.

“Why do you care what I think of you?” She finally manages, swallowing heavily as she tries to clear whatever it is that’s choking her. He lets out an exasperated sigh, lowering his head and leaning into her shoulder. She jolts when the crown of his head connects with her skin, unintentionally gripping his arms in shock. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbles, pulling back but refusing to look at her this time. She doesn’t move her hands from his arms, finding herself holding him tighter.

“I don’t hate you.” Katara whispers, drawing his gaze, but it’s not nearly as intense as it had been before. His breath shudders out against her cheek, the distance between them nearly nonexistent. She could push him away like she knows she should, her fingers digging into his arms as if she’s about to do just that, but she realizes she’s pulling him closer instead. She _wants_ this.

They connect in a clash of lips and teeth. It’s not a gentle kiss by any means, his mouth moving against hers forcefully and her lips pushing back just as aggressively, and the total of their shared frustrations flows through the kiss. Her hands move from his arms to his hair, tangling in the locks and grabbing fistfuls of it that she tugs lightly, her nails ghosting across his scalp. It draws a moan from him that resonates against her mouth and sends a foreign jolt through her. He seems hesitant to move closer, or even touch her, keeping a small distance between their bodies that he doesn’t close until she uses one hand to grip his shirt and pull him towards her. He follows the momentum of her grip and shifts his knees, pressing himself against her until their chests meet and his hips are settled against hers. He finally pulls away for quick gasps of air, his forehead resting against her neck and his lips finding her pulse in her throat. 

“I—Katara…” Katara shakes her head, tugging his hair to pull his head back up. He blinks, confusion and desire swirling in his gaze. 

“Don’t.” She doesn’t want the opportunity to think about what they’re doing. She knows as soon as she thinks about this, these wonderful feelings will end. She can already feel panic rearing its ugly head, but she quickly stifles it by recapturing his lips. Their second kiss smolders, less aggressive but deeper than their first and another unfamiliar shudder runs through her. He seems to gain confidence, shifting his weight and clasping her sides, his deft fingers tracing the curves of her waist. Her wandering hands respond by running down the planes of his chest, settling on the sash around his abdomen holding his tunic closed and lingering on the knot in its center. 

As the knot comes undone, a sudden flash of light shines through her eyelids and she blinks rapidly. Appa lets out an irritated groan and whips around beneath them, throwing Zuko off of her. His back collides with the edge of the saddle roughly, and he seems to be in a daze for a moment before he comes to his senses. Sitting up quickly, he tries to discern what had caused the disturbance. Her brain feels clouded, struggling to process anything but the way his hair sticks up where she’d run her fingers through it and how his chest heaves beneath the thin fabric of his shirt and unbound tunic. She wants to reach out and touch him again.  

“You again.” Zuko hisses, standing and jumping from the saddle in one swift move. Katara climbs up after him, rising and looking down at where he’d disappeared. The fog that had settled over her mind dissipates and she grits her teeth angrily. She sees the now familiar form of the soldier that had so mercilessly hunted them. Zuko is holding his own, dodging and striking skillfully, but she joins the fight by drawing water from the discarded canteen nearby and freezing it into razor sharp crystals, throwing them at the soldier with a short, furious cry. They imbed in the man violently, blood seeping out from the wounds and sapping further energy from him. He stumbles as Zuko attacks, the Prince whipping his heel across the ground and sending out a wave of fire that knocks the soldier’s feet from beneath him and burns his back once he’s tumbled to the ground.

“You’ve blinded Appa, attacked us— _three times_ —and now you’ve interrupted something very…important. What makes you think I should let you live?” Zuko asks, storming forward with two powerful jets of fire streaming from his clenched fists.

“Zuko.” Katara says, looking down at him imploringly. Their eyes meet and his dual fires suddenly die. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. 

“Leave now, and I’ll let you live. Come back again, and I won’t make any promises.” The soldier seems to have finally admitted defeat, blood loss and trauma catching up with him, and staggers to his feet before limping away into the shadowed forest. Zuko doesn’t look up at her, glaring after him. 

“I should have killed him. He’s going to come back.” She frowns, looking in the direction that the soldier had retreated in.

“If he does, we can handle him, but we don’t kill.” Zuko runs a hand through his hair, further ruffling it, and lets out an agitated breath.

“Even if they deserve it?”

“If we killed every person who deserved it, you’d be dead several times over.” He looks up at her and she regrets her words immediately, “We need to get some sleep before sunrise.” She transitions, moving away from the edge of the saddle to settle back down on her makeshift pillow. When Zuko climbs back into the saddle, he lays down heavily in the opposite corner, his backed turned to her. Neither of them truly sleeps, the tension too thick in the air to do so, and eventually they watch the sunset from opposite sides of the saddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave you a taste of that Zutara then snatched it away like the villain I am. But I assure you, the good stuff is coming. I just. Couldn’t quite incorporate sexy times into this chapter because having sex on Appa is something that shouldn’t happen ever I don’t think. Comments and reviews give me life!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy mother of Christ, the last chapter got a good response. Which, I guess I should have been expecting, since it was the first chapter with actual Zutara in it lmao. And it only took? Six Chapters? Nice.
> 
> Anyway, be warned, I make full use of the M rating in this chapter guys.

Zuko is intoxicated by her. Katara’s lips on his, teeth teasing his lip as he memorizes the curves of her waist, he can’t get enough of her. Her scent as she pins him and her hair cascades around his face like a curtain, encasing him in everything that is _her,_ making his head spin. As he meets her eyes, the brilliant blue of her irises overtaken by her dilated pupils, he can’t think of a single place he’d rather be. All his struggle to get to this point is worth it, now, and he clasps her jaw possessively before he reclaims her mouth. Their kisses could almost be called desperate, and perhaps they were. Perhaps he’d happily spend the rest of his life right here.

She moves against him then, breaking his train of thought and dragging a moan from him as his hands fly from her jaw to her hips. Her name leaves his lips like a prayer, desperate. She’s straddling him, her entire body flush against his and making it increasingly harder to think with each subtle twist of her figure. He’s not sure if he’s ever wanted anything more in his life, hungry lips kissing at the hot skin of her neck and below, finding the edge of her neckline and following the line of fabric to the tie holding it closed.

He wakes with a start, jolting upright as he tries to shake the disorientation of his sudden consciousness. His entire body feels on edge, the ghost of Katara’s hands on him making his clothes feel stifling and, in some areas, uncomfortably tight. Light has just barely started to creep through the high windows of his cell, indicating it was barely even dawn, and he lets out a frustrated groan as he falls back heavily onto his cot.

Zuko was accustomed to night terrors, horrid visions of his past and future that left him waking in a cold sweat, but these _fantasies_ were something foreign to him. He knew normal teenagers often faced similar dilemmas, but he’d never considered himself _normal_. He had far more severe worries to occupy himself with, yet when he closed his eyes, he only saw her. He almost preferred the night terrors.

Rolling onto his side, he buries his face into the thin pillow and lets out another groan of annoyance. It would be another hour until he was allowed outside of his room, Aang’s training not due to start until the sun was squarely above the horizon, but sleeping was a prospect Zuko didn’t want to face. The idea of returning to those unobtainable fantasies was more terrifying than facing any kind of imagined horror. So he instead rolls out of bed—quite literally, landing on his hands and knees on the floor—and busies himself with random exercises. He transitions from push-ups to crunches to hot squats to fire fists to running in place when he runs out of unique exercises. He’s left panting and sweating, but his mind isn’t once distracted from his uninvited lust for the waterbender.

Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, Zuko lets out a breath filled with steam and wisps of flames, frustration turning to rage. This shouldn’t be happening. Why couldn’t anything in his life ever go the way it was supposed to?

“Zuko?” He jolts upright, thankful to see Aang standing in the suddenly empty doorway instead of Katara. He didn’t know if he could face her right now.

“Ready for your training today?” Zuko asks, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, but it looks like you already started.” He says, commenting on Zuko’s disheveled appearance. The firebender shakes his head, standing and gathering his shirt from the floor, tugging it on before sliding his tunic over it.

“I was warming up.” Zuko answers, quickly securing the sash around his waist. His fingers brush the knot in its center after he completes it, recalling how she had so eagerly undone it.

“Was I supposed to be doing that?” Aang inquires. Zuko waves him off as he walks past him.

“No. I just needed to.” He can feel himself brooding, his hair falling into his eyes as he sulks down the hall towards their impromptu training ground, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He had every reason to brood when yet another venture in his life was going awry.

“Makes sense.” Aang chimes in. The airbender is tired, yet still far more chipper than Zuko could ever muster in his current state, “So what’re we doing today?” As they step out into the cleared area for their training, Zuko takes in a deep breath. He hadn’t given any thought to Aang’s training today, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to come up with something for Aang to do. He was progressing well enough on the basic forms, and while slight mistakes were still being made, he couldn’t ask for perfection in the time they had.

“I don’t know.” Zuko admits. He seemed to be saying those three words more frequently as of late. He’d never floundered so much when he’d hunted the Avatar, and at times he misses that blind certainty.

“Is everything okay?” Aang frowns, eying the Prince with concern, “Did something happen at the market?” Zuko barks out a laugh, throwing his head back in exasperation.

“I guess something did.” Zuko mumbles, speaking to the cloudless sky.

“What happened? You and Katara seemed tense when you got back, but I figured that was just because…well, you know.” Aang trails off, rubbing the back of his neck and shrugging. Katara’s consistent distaste for Zuko had been unwavering in the eyes of everyone else in the group, he realized. She was a far better actress than he gave her credit for. He supposes could do the same.

“My father wants me dead.” Zuko says, frowning. It was definitely concerning, but it wasn’t his prime concern, “Katara and I were discovered by some soldiers, and they weren’t trying to take me prisoner.” Aang’s brow furrows.

“What does that mean for us?”

“It means this is a lot more dangerous than I thought. If my father wants me dead, he’s going to send his best resources to make that happen.” Zuko worries his lip, glad to be thinking about something other than Katara for the time being, “Which could be dangerous for everyone.”

“Whatever he throws at us, we can handle.” Aang says confidently and Zuko shakes his head in disagreement.

“Azula is his best resource.” A heavy silence settles over the pair, the wind howling through the canyon being the only sound between them.

“We’ve handled her before.” Aang finally breaks the silence, looking up at Zuko with determination in his steely eyes.

“Have you?” Zuko asks, knowing the answer before Aang can say anything in response, “She already killed you once and, trust me, she hates failure. She’ll make sure you stay dead this time.” The sudden hand on his shoulder shocks Zuko. He looks down at the airbender, frowning at the small smile he receives.

“It’s different this time, though.”

“How?”

“We’ve got you on our side.” Zuko feels the sun on his back. A sudden serenity settles over him, easing the tension in his muscles and mind.

He supposes they do.

* * *

 

Zuko doesn’t dream about Katara that night.

Instead, he dreams of devastation. It’s a familiar yet foreign scene once he realizes he isn’t the subject of the torture. Aang, Sokka, Toph— _Katara_ lying lifeless before him, the pool of carnage lapping at his ankles. The blood was still warm, soaking through the fabric of his boots. Some part of his conscious mind stirs, knowing he should be experiencing horror at the scene, but he smiles.

He _laughs_ because there’s blood everywhere. It tints the pale skin of his arms a deep crimson and drips from his bangs. It soaks through his clothes and chills him down to his bones. He’s consumed by it. _Encased_ in it. He wipes his face with the backs of his hands, but it’s just blood on blood. There’s not a single inch of him that isn’t covered in the blood of people he’d started to mentally refer to as his friends.

]He laughs because he can’t see anything but red. The thick liquid runs into his eyes and he feels tears join it. The laughter turns hysterical, forcing him to struggle to draw in even the shallowest of breaths as he cackles. He feels a hand on his shoulder, firm and powerful, and whips his head around to look up at the shadowed figure.

“Father.” Zuko hisses, tasting blood. _Blood, blood everything is **blood**. _

“Don’t fight this.” He bears no confusion as to what his father is referring to, falling to his knees in front of Ozai’s terrifying, unrealistically daunting form. What he really meant was, “ _Don’t fight me.”_

“This isn’t me.” He can see his own reflection in the blood on the floor as it rises. The liquid is lapping at his upper thighs, his own crazed reflection grinning back at him. “This isn’t _me._ ” Ozai’s chuckle seems to rattle the air, making Zuko flinch away.

“Of course it is.” He stalks around Zuko like a predator circling wounded prey, his hand raking through his son’s hair in the parody of a caring gesture, “It’s in your blood.” Zuko’s blood joins the pool beneath him as deep gashes pattern his scalp, trailing behind Ozai’s serrated fingers. He can’t find it in himself to panic, silently staring up at Ozai. He can see the smile on Ozai’s lips and nothing else, his hair whipping around his face like a living thing and the golden crown in his topknot sending vicious glare into his eyes. 

“Yes.” Zuko somehow speaks, the pool of blood pausing in its descent up his torso, “It is, but I’m more than blood.” He’s suddenly immaculate, the blood seemingly repelled by him and leaving his skin. The gallons of blood that had been encroaching upon him disappear.

“You are the sum of your heritage, Prince Zuko. Your blood is who you _are._ ” Ozai growls, but his voice lacks the reverberating omnipresence it had once had, “You can’t escape it, and you can’t pretend you have any choice in the matter.” The bodies that had been littering the ground have disappeared, leaving gaping holes in the floor that lead to nothing but blackness.

“You’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong.” Zuko stands on unsteady feet, fists clenched and shoulders pushing back with renewed confidence. He can clearly see Ozai now, the shine of his hair gone and the planes of his pale face interrupted by the dark purple bags under his eyes. In the dark, Ozai had all the presence of a spirit, but he didn’t live in the dark anymore. He could see, now, that his father was just a man, and any man could be felled.

“Perhaps, but let me be correct on one thing.” Ozai says tiredly, each breath seeming to be a struggle. He walks by Zuko, steps not quite as smooth as he remembered them, “They will never accept you and she will never love you. They’ll see what you really are, eventually, and then they will turn on you. They always turn on you, just give it time.” By the end of his statement, he’s practically whispering, talking to himself. Zuko swings his fist at Ozai but his form only ripples like disturbed water before disappearing into the encroaching darkness.

“She won’t love you. She’s already seen that you’re just—” His voice is everywhere and nowhere and even as Zuko clamps his hands over his ears he can still hear and feel the syllables clearly, “Like—” Zuko hisses out his own rebuttal to try to cover his father’s speech, but still that final word strikes him like a physical blow.

“ _Me.”_ Zuko’s hands shake as they press over his ears, breaths coming in quick pants. Yet still, Ozai doesn’t stop, appearing over Zuko’s shoulder one last time to grasp his son’s shoulders and calmly say,

“ _Why would you ever condemn her to loving you?_ ”

He’s shrouded in complete darkness as the sound of the stone barricade to his room lowering jolts him awake. There’s no moon tonight, making it impossible for him to see whose footsteps he was hearing. All he can be sure of is that he hears Toph’s heavy receding footfalls, leaving him with the mystery visitor.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” Katara’s voice brings with it an odd mix of fantasy and horror, the vision of her blood on his hands rattling him.

“What do you want?” His skin still feeling soaked in blood. _Her blood._ His shoulders clench up tensely and his hands fist the thin sheets as if it’s the only thing holding him in place.

“You were right.” He looks up at her, able to see her more clearly as his eyes adjust to the darkness. She’s dressed for bed, stripped of everything but her bindings and her blue tunic that rests over her like a robe.

“I was?” He asks, blinking rapidly as he tries to force his eyes anywhere but her. He settles on a large stain on the far wall that’s vaguely shaped like an ostrich horse.

“Yes. We should really discuss… _us_. Especially after what happened…” _The kiss_. That forces a bolt of arousal through him in a way that none of his fantasies could ever hope to. The desire to replicate the experience is strong enough to make Zuko feel a new wash of shame.

“What are we, then?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably as she sits next to him on the edge of his bed, bracing her elbows on her knees. He can feel her body heat against his arm.

“We’re not enemies.” Katara murmurs into her hands as she runs them over her face, “I can’t lie to myself anymore by saying we are.” New warmth settles in him at the admission, and a smile creeps onto his lips.

“You won’t go so far as to call us friends, though, I’m guessing.” The smile remains despite his words, and it’s a struggle to keep his hands clasped in front of himself and off of her. His knuckles go white with the effort.

“What happened between us isn’t really a _friend_ thing, Zuko. I don’t…I don’t really know what that was.” He couldn’t say he knew either, the entire turn of events a bit clouded in his mind, but he knew that they couldn’t go back. Whatever their relationship was, there was no returning to the point from which they’d started. Zuko wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Maybe we shouldn’t label it at all.” He says, the statement sounding inherently wrong. It was against Zuko’s nature to leave something so undefined, but perhaps he did need to become a little more flexible. Maybe she could teach him. She looks over at him, something dancing in her eyes that makes his throat go dry.

“So we’re just _something,_ then.”

“Something.” Zuko repeats, nodding and nervously pushing his hair out of his eyes. She’s so close, close enough that he could easily claim her waist and pull her completely against him, but his blood runs cold as his father’s voice reminds him.

_Why would you ever condemn her to loving you?_

He suddenly stands from the bed with a gasp, hugging himself tightly as he crosses the room. No matter the distance he put between himself and his father, he still controlled him, and Zuko wants to fight him but he can’t when he knew Ozai was _right_. He couldn’t get close to Katara when all he could ever do was hurt her, and she the same to him. They would end up killing each other one way or another if he let this go on.

“You should leave.” Zuko says abruptly, hearing her stand from his bed with a heavy sigh.

“You’re not doing this again, Zuko.” She doesn’t make the mistake of moving closer to him like she had the first time he’d pushed her away, but she stands her ground firmly.

“Doing what?” He turns his head, but keeps his back facing her. It’s safer this way.

“Shutting me out.” Katara says softly, her tone nearly drawing him to face her. _Nearly_.

“It’s what’s best.” Zuko suddenly feels exhausted, realizing his nightmare had made his sleep less than restful, “We’re—this _something_ isn’t good for either of us. And it will only get worse if I don’t make you leave.”

“I thought you would have figured out by now that you can’t makeme do anything.” He can hear the almost taunting smile in her voice, but it doesn’t do anything to satiate his annoyance. _How can she not understand?_

“I’m going to hurt you again.” He growls out, finally spinning to face her and gesturing to his faded bruises, the only remaining remnants of her bloodbending, “It’s all we can do to each other.” Her features mirror his own in their shared anger, her fists clenching at her sides.

“That’s not true.”

“ _Think_ , Katara!” He snaps, “You know what we are, and what we’ve done. You know this can never work—whatever it is.”

“I won’t bloodbend against you again. I already told you that.” She spits back at him, her hands shaking with her own indignant rage at his implications. A bitter smile stretches his lips as he suddenly closes the distance between them and his hands grip her shoulders tightly.

“And what about me? Do you trust me not to hurt you?” He’s made a tremendous mistake by closing that distance just to make a point. Her wide eyes stare up at him with fury and determination as well as that unfamiliar glint he’s starting to recognize as _lust_.

“ _Do you_?” He whispers, the distance between them too small to properly raise his voice. Her eyelids flutter as his breath brushes her face, drawing her in like they were magnetized.

“Yes.” Katara responds in the same hushed tone, the word vibrating against his lips as she kisses him. The kiss is tentative, as if it’s their first, and Zuko’s hands stay rigidly on her shoulders as his mouth moves against hers. They pull away by only a fraction of an inch, breaths mingling between them.

“You shouldn’t.” Zuko answers against her lips as he returns for a second kiss that suddenly explodes into something wild and passionate. Her teeth scrape his lip and her hands find his hair, winding in it and yanking with a force that makes stars appear in his vision for a moment. So he retaliates, using his grip on her shoulders to aggressively push her back onto his bed and ravage her neck with desperate, shallow kisses.

“ _Zuko_ …” She gasps out; practically mimicking his dreams and making his pants tighten uncomfortably, “I don’t believe that.” Her fingers explore the expanse of his bare back, feeling both the old and recent scars patterning his skin. He shivers as she reaches a particularly recent one that still throbs at times when he bends to quickly. He lets out a groan against her neck at the touch, pulling back and tugging her tunic off of her shoulders.

“You have every reason to.” Zuko growls into the skin of her collarbone, feeling along her arms as he slides the fabric down and off of her. She shakes her head, causing it to fan out around her on his pillow in a halo of rich, brown locks. It’s an image he doesn’t want to forget.

“I would have killed that man, if you hadn’t stopped me.” His hands slow as they caress her sides, eyes wandering up to meet hers, “I’m dangerous.” He isn’t sure what he expects Katara to do, but when she grabs his jaw and kisses the breath out of him he finds that it wasn’t that.

“So am I.” She finally retorts breathlessly, and his heart speeds as she feels to the waist of his pants. It’s little more than a tease, though, with her fingers splaying out against his stomach and her thumbs hooking beneath his waistband ever so slightly. She simply feels along the taut skin there, experiencing every twitch and shift of his abdominal muscles as he moves against her.

“Point…point taken.” He gasps out, feeling the end of the bindings around her chest and toying with its frayed edges. It’s a step Zuko isn’t entirely prepared to take, unraveling only one section of the binding at a time. With each layer, he looks into her eyes, searching for any panic hidden in their depths. But she encourages him, lifting her torso up off the bed to help him along and blushing as the last remaining section of binding unravels itself and falls around her waist.

He doesn’t recall ever getting this far in his dreams, not being imaginative enough to really fill in the gaps covered by her clothing, but he doubts his mind could have—or ever could, in the future—recreated the sight before him. Yet as eager as he is to feel her, he doesn’t do so until Katara’s hands take his own and pull him forward, her lips meeting his in a kiss that could almost be called chaste.

His hands settle on her chest, feeling her slowly, as if moving with any more urgency would shatter this reality and she’d disappear from beneath him. Her soft moan against his lips destroys his control, though, and his touches become more urgent as his hips press downwards into hers, desperately seeking some kind of friction. It’s a movement he makes without thinking, but she instinctually responds and rises up to meet him.

It all devolves from there, each action merging together in his arousal addled mind, but he suddenly finds the rest of her bindings have gathered with her tunic on the floor and his pants are being rapidly removed to join them. Their kisses are sloppier now, more tongue and teeth than lips, and they’re each murmuring incoherent words to each other. Praise, denial, encouragement, admonishment, they all blend together into an indecipherable mess. But three words make it out of Zuko’s mouth and manage to make a decent amount of sense.

“Are you sure?” He asks into the mound of her breast, mocha skin still glistening where his mouth had ravaged it. She nods, but he lets out an annoyed grunt.

“No, you need to tell me.” He looks up at her face, clasping her cheek in his palm, “Tell me you want this.” He won’t be able to believe he hadn’t used her if she doesn’t say this to him. She smiles, the expression melting any defenses he had left against her, before taking his hand from her cheek and clasping it in her own.

“I want this.” She says into his hand as his fingers curl around hers. She won’t say it, but he thinks he can read it in the complicated look she gives him. _I want you_.

She repeats those words as he enters her, her voice practically drowned out by his stifled moan. She’s immeasurably perfect around him, and he works off of instinct alone as his higher mental functions fail him. Katara seems to be in much the same state, the two of them desperately pleasing each other without thought of past wounds or scorn. And even after they’ve both climaxed and lie satiated and exhausted, forced together by the narrowness of the bed, Zuko isn’t entirely sure he can recall the events that transpired after those words properly. It was all hot passion and pleasure and _her_. Always her. He had been drowning in her, and he didn’t care in the slightest for just a few moments after he settles back on the bed, chest heaving and damp hair sticking to his forehead. He can only look down at her in a daze, pushing her tousled hair out of her face as he tries to see her.

She doesn’t look at him, keeping her eyes firmly trained on something in the distance. He can practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes as she thinks, and as the pure gratification of their encounter fades, he starts to think as well. Things had managed to only get more complicated, the stickiness of her sweat slicked skin against his suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He can tell she feels the same when she sits up and turns away from him, shoulders hunched inward to hide herself from him.

They sure were _something_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to let them be happy.
> 
> Also, do I love to write Ozai? You better believe I love to write Ozai.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father's guidance.

_“It won’t happen again.”_

_“It was a mistake.”_

_“An accident.”_

_“I should go.”_

_“Stay._ ”

Night after night happens the same way. They move together in a dance of denial and desire when she can’t stay away from his room or his touch. Zuko makes up excuses to be allowed to visit Katara’s quarters, and Toph’s lack of questioning leads him to believe that she either doesn’t care what they’re doing or is well aware of it. They don’t stay together long, just long enough to fulfill the other before the regret washes over them again.

Washed over _her_.

Katara finds herself steeped in remorse after the thrill of each climax fades and leaves her desperately clasping at the man she’d formally been sickened by. She remembers glaring at him and counting all of the things she’d hated. His eyes, so unnaturally colored. His scar, twisting his left eye into a permanent glare and betraying how _angry_ he always was. His ridiculous hair, shaved everywhere but the crown of his head and tied into a high ponytail. His attitude, pompous and aggressive, speaking like he was simultaneously desperate and too good to talk to you all at once. She’d easily been able to make a complete list of the things she _despised_ about him from the inside out.

Yet now she couldn’t feel any malice towards him if she tried. His eyes entranced her, flecks of gold and brown dancing in their depths when the light hit them just the right way. His scar’s origin was a mystery to her, he never wanted to talk about it, but she often found herself running her fingers delicately along its edges to feel his cheekbone and the ridge of his brow beneath it. His hair was thick, dark and wild, encasing her hands when she entangled her fingers in it and gripped it tight in the throes of passion. His attitude had been nothing but a front, the pompous, bitter disposition replaced with a genuine and surprisingly kind soul.

“What are you thinking about?” Zuko asks in the dead silence that bloats the air.

“Nothing.” She murmurs into his chest, listening to his heartbeat in one ear.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least try to make it convincing.” He growls out tiredly, his voice low enough that she feels it in the cheek pressed to his skin.

“You don’t want to hear what I’m thinking.” She answers, intently studying a pale pink scar that travels the length of his pectoral to the bottom of his ribs. So many unexplained marks on the skin she’d always thought would be flawless, evidence of a pampered life.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Zuko responds and she huffs, perturbed. He was so good with words sometimes.

“I was thinking about how much I hated you.” She feels his breath hitch, his heart changing its pace in just the slightest amount. His hand finds the bare expanse of her back, running down from between her shoulders to the small of her back.

“And?”

“And I was thinking about how I don’t hate you anymore.” Katara finally dares to look up at his face, finding him staring at her ceiling instead of anywhere near her. His thumb slowly rubs small circles into her skin.

“That makes one of us.” He says wryly, and she can tell it’s meant as a dark joke, but she still swats his shoulder lightly in disapproval.

“Stop.” She orders, pushing herself up onto her elbows and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “Self pity doesn’t look good on you.” He smiles against her lips, tangling his fingers in her mussed hair and pulling her closer.

“Really? But I’ve got so much practice with it.” Their kisses are lazy, dazed, but deeply intimate in their frightening familiarity.

“Time wasted, I guess.” She climbs over him, bracing her knees on either side of his hips, “Because it really looks bad on you. Maybe try gardening.” He laughs against her mouth, shifting to kiss down to the curve of her jaw and lazily moving himself against her. Their muscles are still heavy with the afterglow of their shared climaxes, the movement of both their lips and bodies sluggish.

“Keeping things alive isn’t really in my nature.” Again, it’s meant as a macabre joke, but it makes her pause and pull away from him.

“Zuko.” She chides, their intimate position feeling claustrophobic.

“That was…bad, wasn’t it?” Zuko asks, hands leaving her hair and settling on her shoulders.

“That’s not something to joke about.” She says solemnly, sliding off of him and stretching to grab at her bindings.

“I really should stop trying to make those.” He grumps, pinching the bridge of his nose in vexation, “Sorry.” She nods at his apology, leaving her acceptance vague, and begins wrapping the binding around her chest.

“You should go, anyway. It’s late.” He looks like he wants to argue, but a new voice interrupts from the distant hallway.

“ _Please_. I have to sleep too, you know.” Toph grumbles, “Can’t wait up all night for you lovebirds.” Neither of them can see her, but they both know her patience has waned if not disappeared, and Zuko is quick in recovering his clothing.

“Goodnight, Katara.” The distance between them might as well be a chasm.

“Goodnight.”

* * *

The day Aang bests him in a firebending brawl; Zuko is hiding hickeys along the pale skin of his neck with a mixture of fine, opaque dust and water. He’s far from at his best, his reactions slowed by fatigue and his mind preoccupied with the waterbender watching them from the sidelines. He feels hyperaware of the pattern of her nails displayed on the skin of his bare back, his focus leaving his opponent in favor of Katara’s gaze. Their eyes lock just long enough for Aang to land a solid, flaming kick to his stomach that sends Zuko skidding across the rough stone.

“Are you alright?” Aang asks before Zuko pushes himself up onto his elbows. He can already feel the scrapes along his arm and side starting to throb, but he pays them no mind as he nods off the Avatar’s concerns.

“I’m fine. You did what I taught you.” He gets to his feet, picking aggravating pebbles out of his skin, “You’ve finally stopped being so conservative with your firebending.” Now that he’s reassured that he hadn’t done Zuko any real harm, the excitement seems to hit him in full force. A grin so big that it’s almost implausible forms on the boy’s face, and he rushes over to Zuko on a burst of wind that kicks up even more dust into the air.

“Thanks, Zuko!” Aang says, clapping a hand on his back in appreciation. Zuko tries to control the hiss of pain that escapes his lips when the edge of the airbender’s thumb strikes where Katara’s nail had dug in particularly roughly.

“You’re no master yet.” Zuko huffs aloofly, shrugging his hand off and stepping away from him, “We still have a long way to go.” He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his shift in behavior so obvious to nearly anyone who had paid him any shred of attention before things had become so hopelessly complicated with Katara. He can only be thankful that Sokka is absent to verbally point it out.

“But it’s a start.” At times, Zuko was baffled by the young Avatar’s blind optimism, but it was when he looked into his eyes and really pulled apart their depths that he realized what a transparent veil it was for his doubts. For someone so physically young, he understood the things that were resting on him and took every responsibility seriously, even if his demeanor was anything but serious. His act was entirely different than the one Zuko performed, but it hid an equally disturbed mind. The uninvited thought that perhaps Katara had a certain _type_ buries itself in his mind, and he feels the now familiar flash of jealousy flare to life in his gut.

“Sure.” Zuko finally responds cuttingly, “We should take a break.” His tone surprises Aang, but he lets it go when Zuko turns to leave them. He can’t go far without their watch, settling by a leaking fountain near the edge of the training ground and flushing out his scrapes with the cool water. He can hear them talk amongst themselves—congratulations on his firebending progress, discussions of lunch options, mundane things that make Zuko’s attention wane—and busies himself by staring into his reflection in the pool beneath him. The mixture of pale dust from the stones of the temple has started to wear away and the deep purple of the bruises patterning his neck stand out in high contrast.

"You should let me heal you.” Katara says, settling on her knees beside him. She doesn’t wait for his answer, already gathering a stream of water into a tight ball between her fingers.

“You should consider not being so rough in the first place.” He quips back, watching the growing ball start to glow with the now familiar power of her chi. It wasn’t entirely fair to put the blame entirely on her, clearly able to see his own marks on her skin underneath the edges of her tunic, but this sort of banter had started to become the norm for them.

“You should consider not being so aggravating in the first place.” They were trying to settle into something that looked natural to the others around them, one part aggression and one part struggling camaraderie, but there was still something magnetic between them, “And I was talking about your new scrapes, not the…” She clears her throat but doesn’t continue speaking, hovering her hands over the trails of her nails from the night before.

Her hands connect with his back and once again, their chi mingles in a now familiar way. A tremor racks through her otherwise steady hands, and as he hunches over the lip of the fountain, he finds himself gripping her knee gently. A few beads of water seep from her grip as his fingers spread out and his hand slides to her mid-thigh. He knows there’s a tender spot there.

“Ouch.” Aang says softly, kneeling beside Katara and startling the both of them. Zuko removes his hand from her, clenching his fists in his lap, “I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.”

“You’ve all done worse to me before.” The Prince can’t help but be on edge, wondering if Aang will notice the distinct scrapes of her nails that stood out against the cuts of the rough pebbles. Even if he did pick out the differences, he wonders if that would be a bad thing. She’d never truly answered him on the matter of her and Aang, and he finally considers if her reluctance was due to regret towards sleeping with him or if she was actually cheating on Aang.

If she was cheating on the Avatar, all powerful master of all elements and bridge to the spirit world, with _him,_ the shamed Prince of a tyrannical nation. The thought makes him swallow dryly.

“I was never trying to hurt you.” Aang disputes, and Zuko is so far hunched over the fountain that the edge of it presses into his stomach roughly and worries the slightly singed skin there.

“Thanks.” It’s all he can come up with in response, and he’s aware that it doesn’t entirely make sense. In his attempt to be nonchalant, he’s coming off as far more suspicious.

“Sorry, Aang, but I really need to focus. Some of these are deep.” Katara interjects, and Aang nods in understanding. He goes silent and backs away from them. Zuko wants to thank her, but his throat still feels tight after his realization, “What are you _doing_?” She hisses, more of the water sliding down his back and soaking into the waistband of his pants, sending a shiver through him.

“What?” He responds without turning his head to look at her.

“You’re acting really suspicious! You think they won’t notice?” Nearly all of the water is gone now, her hands simply resting on his back. He tries not to think of how nice the touch feels on his hypersensitive healed skin.

“You never really answered my question about you and Aang.” Zuko states instead of responding, tilting his head to face her. He’s thankful for the impassiveness of his scar to hide his feelings from her.

“It’s not your _business_ , I told you that before!” Katara answers angrily, her hands pressing more firmly into his back before she removes them completely, holding them at her sides angrily.

“You’ve made it my business.” He counters.

“No, I haven’t.”

“You did when you got involved with me.” Her harsh exhale is audible, the residual water and sweat on his skin shivering.

“You think I’m cheating on him with you?” He nods, keeping his eyes forward, “I’m not. I wouldn’t.” There’s relief in his posture, his shoulders going slightly slack; yet something still nags at him.

“Of course you aren’t.” He sighs, “Of course not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asks, arms crossing in annoyance. A rancorous smile pulls at his lips and he shakes his head.

“If you were, it’d give me a reason to stop this.” Her hands return to his back, gathering the water there as she reforms it around her hands. When she speaks, it’s practically said into his shoulder.

“There are plenty of reasons to stop this.” He shivers, and it has nothing to do with the water, “Aang just isn’t one of them.”

* * *

 

Hakoda is an intimidating man. He’s physically large, somewhere around the size of Zuko’s own father, if a bit leaner, and the permanent bags under his eyes show the stresses of his life. Zuko can vaguely see some of the man’s features in his children, but the connections are tenuous at best in his daughter. She must look more like her mother than the stone-faced nonbender before him.

“So he’s your prisoner, then?” The ropes have returned to Zuko’s wrists for the first time since the marketplace, and the irritating grains of the bindings are just as annoying as he remembered then.

“Yep.” Sokka announces, and Zuko is sure he’s speaking even more boisterously than normal, “Caught him myself.” Zuko has to clench his teeth at that, unable to completely silence the aggravated grunt in the back of his throat.

“I surrendered myself to them. I wanted to help.” Hakoda seems skeptical, scanning Zuko so intensely that it makes him feel particularly vulnerable. He subtly shifts his shoulders inward.

“That’s quite the change of heart for the son of the Fire Lord to have.” Zuko had gone through this so many times before, he sounds bored when he speaks.

“Let’s just say the Fire Lord wasn’t the best father in the history of fathers. I wasn’t guilty when I betrayed him.” He’d never been conflicted on whether he’d made the right choice then, it was only the rest of his life that kept a storm raging in the back of his mind.

“I see.” They lock eyes, and Zuko can only take note of the fact that his irises are just a shade lighter than Katara’s, “Yet they still find it necessary to keep you tied up?” Zuko doesn’t want to admit what a show these ties are. They couldn’t truly bind him, and he felt everyone here knew that, but it was as if they were putting on a show for their father. They wanted to display _something_ to him, their competency or their ability, and keeping a skilled firebender captive was surely doing that.

“It’s a precaution.” Sokka interrupts, “You know how unpredictable firebenders can be.” There’s a spark somewhere in Hakoda’s gaze as Sokka speaks.

“I’m very aware.” He clasps Sokka on the shoulder, nodding his approval, “Good job, son.” His words cause the young tribesman to practically preen, his shoulders pushing back and chest jutting out. Sokka is already going on about his conquest over the ‘cunning enemy,’ and Zuko effectively tunes him out.

“I think I’d like to speak with him alone, though.” Hakoda says. That effectively recaptures Zuko’s attention, and he stands from the edge of his bed quickly. Sokka seems as confused as Zuko is, looking between the two doubtfully.

“Uh…yeah, sure. Just come get me and Katara when you’re done.” Hakoda nods to show his understanding before his son leaves the room, the hush that follows being very nearly deafening.

“Prince Zuko, is it?” Zuko clenches and unclenches his fists, not entirely sure if he should be expecting a fight. This man puts him on edge, and he can’t be certain why, but he doesn’t like it.

“Just Zuko is fine.”

“I’m not going to fight you. You can relax.” Trust isn’t something Zuko freely gives out, so his shoulders stay tense.

“Judging by your prison scrubs, I can guess you haven’t had the best experience with my nation.” Zuko argues, “If you wanted to fight me, I’d understand.” Hakoda gives him a smile he could almost call patronizing.

“Obviously, but petty fighting won’t solve anything when we’ve apparently got a much bigger common enemy.” Zuko’s nightmare flashes behind his lids when he blinks, “Besides, I’m sure you’ve got your own biases against my tribe as well. Let’s just call it even.”  The firebender cringes subtly, recalling the things his tutors had told him about the Southern Water Tribe. They were portrayed as nothing more than dimwitted savages, ugly rumors of cannibalism in the harsh arctic winters being a favorite myth about them in the Fire Nation.

"That sounds fair.” Zuko does finally relax his tensed muscles fractionally, the lines in the older man’s face seeming to have smoothed somewhat as well.

“I’m glad you agree.” Hakoda suddenly grabs Zuko’s hands and unties the knot, tugging the ropes loose, “And I don’t think either of us should pretend these were doing any good.” The Prince is shocked by his audaciousness, pulling his hands back and brushing the fibers left in his skin away.

“Why did you—”

“You have scars on your wrists, but they’re too old for you to have been constantly bound until now. Sokka was just trying to impress me, but I don’t think he needs to do it at your expense.” He didn’t know Hakoda in the slightest. He’d never spoken more than a few sentences to him, yet he could feel the unreserved kindness emanating from the man. It nearly breaks Zuko, and he realizes how desperately he’d missed the absence of just one person’s scorn since he’d betrayed Iroh.

Zuko refuses to show weakness in front of a complete stranger, though, sniffing indignantly and forcing the heat prickling behind his eyes back down. He hopes he looks more stoic than he feels.

“Thank you.” Zuko knows he shouldn’t ask, he can feel himself flinch as he speaks, “But why are you being so trusting? I haven’t done anything to deserve that, and you must have heard about the things I’ve done, and the things my people did—” He’s getting himself worked up thinking about his past, but Hakoda thankfully puts a quick end to it with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“How much do you know about how things used to be before the war?” Zuko is caught off guard by the question, blinking. _Before_ the war. It seemed like such a foreign statement to him, now that he truly thought about it. Ever since he was old enough to comprehend the world around him, his whole life had been the war. And it had been that way for his father, and his grandfather. The last Fire Prince to know a world without war had been Sozin, back when Avatar Roku had kept the world in balance.  

“Nothing.” He admits truthfully. His tutors had glossed over his great-grandfather’s childhood entirely, focusing on the comet and the onset of the war. If it hadn’t been for the hidden scrolls he’d discovered, he wouldn’t know anything about Sozin’s childhood at all.

“There are stories passed down in our tribe from the elders about it, and the traditions of the Chief’s connection to the other nations is well documented.” He still doesn’t know where Hakoda is going with this, but he doesn’t interrupt, “Before the war, the Fire Lord and the tribe leaders were very close, often being raised alongside one another. It was considered the ultimate display of balance to have the leaders of opposing elements be on good terms with one another.” Zuko finds that hard to believe, unable to imagine a world where his father could befriend someone like Hakoda, but the idea makes sense. Yin and Yang. Opposite forces working together to create a balance.

“If it could work then, it might work again. And as Chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe, I should get on good terms with the next Fire Lord.”

_The next Fire Lord._

Just like he couldn’t fathom a life before the war, he couldn’t comprehend one after it. Assuming Aang could defeat his father, and he could somehow best his sister, he would be next in line for the throne. Even in Zuko’s desperate fight to return to his home, he had never done it for his birthright as Crown Prince, but for his father’s approval. Whether he regained his right to rule had been something that hadn’t concerned him as long as he could please his father.

He’d known all along that becoming Fire Lord would be the result of all of this if it worked out well, but hearing it out loud sends a sharp bolt of panic through him. He would be the youngest crowned Fire Lord in recent history. Ozai hadn’t ascended to the title until he was forty-two. Azulon hadn’t until he was twenty and Sozin had been twenty-four.

Could he handle that kind of power?

Did he trust himself to?

“Zuko?” Hakoda asks, frowning. It slows his racing thoughts, and he realizes he’s breathing harshly with panic.

“I’m fine.” Zuko says defensively, “You’re right. Thank you for your kindness. I’ll try to live up to deserving it.” He places his fist against his palm, bowing respectfully and hoping Hakoda will leave him with his thoughts. He doesn’t, instead resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and frowning down at him in a way that reminds Zuko of his mother. She’d always been able to see straight through him.

“You’ve already shown you’re a better man than your father by choosing our side. Remember that.” He squeezes gently, and the panic starts to wither and die, “Power will only corrupt if you let it.” Hakoda does leave him then, ascending the steps, and Zuko only wishes he could have the faith in himself that the Chief had in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko’s got so many substitute daddies. Someone adopt the poor baby.
> 
> Also, the Water Tribe politics are crazy. When researching Hakoda’s position in the Southern Water Tribe, I realized he wasn’t really an official “Chief” in the terms of having ruling power like the Northern Tribe Chief or the Fire Lord has, but Hakoda kind of simplifies it for Zuko. It’s got more punch than just saying “very important person.”
> 
> Comments and such! The more detailed the better.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions must be made.

That night, Zuko waits for Katara to come to him, as had become their routine. He sits on the edge of his bed, fists pressed under his chin and brows furrowed tightly. The burden of the crown was one he didn’t even bear yet, but Hakoda’s reminder was like a sudden punch to the gut. Not only would his responsibilities be great, having to both lead the Fire Nation as well as mend the ties between the four elemental nations, but they would be something no Fire Lord had faced before. It was an unprecedented challenge.

Yet that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. When he’d really sat down and thought about his future, he kept circling back around to Katara. Where would that put them? They still hadn’t made the borders of what they were any clearer, remaining a _something_ , yet he couldn’t move past the thought of leaving her behind once the war ended.

Surely, they couldn’t continue being _something_ once he was Fire Lord. The scandal would be one that he couldn’t work around. The royal bloodline was a sacred thing to the Fire Nation, considered to be one of the purest and consisting entirely of firebenders and fire nation nobility of some sort. Even his mother had been selected for her relation to the past Fire Nation Avatar. It always came down to blood, and the fact that he was even intermingling with a bender of another element—a _waterbender,_ no less, their exact opposite—would cause uproar among traditionalists.

At the same time, he didn’t want to let her go. He had no formal claim to her, and he wasn’t sure she even felt the same way, but she’d gotten under his skin.

_Literally_. He added with a bit of bite. Sprawling back on the bed with his bound hands resting on his bare stomach and his legs hanging down over the end of the cot, he lets out a frustrated breath.

Capture the Avatar. That had been his one and only drive in life for three years, a fifth of his life so far, and it had been so simple then; so easy to keep his eyes on the prize, so to speak, when there were no complications. Every detestable thing he’d done in pursuit of that single-minded goal had been done without a second thought because he was inherently right in his goal, as the end result had been a noble one. Or so he’d thought. Now that he saw every side of this complicated war, he could no longer be sure of what he wanted of his future. Did he want to be selfish, and have a future with Katara and whatever they were, as unsure as it was? Or did he want to follow his birthright and lead his nation?

_Should I just disappear?_

He blinks, staring at the tiny cracks in the decrepit ceiling. His memories of being some anonymous Earth Kingdom citizen were some of the happiest in his life once they’d gotten settled. Iroh had had his teashop, and he’d been surprisingly content to help him run it.

_Was Lee’s life really so bad?_ Zuko snorts, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. No matter how simple it had been, it couldn’t exist anymore. Lee died when he betrayed his Uncle, and that life had come to a swift end because he couldn’t just be _happy._ Being happy was never enough when he’d felt his father’s love and approval had been so _close_.

The stone barrier at the door shifts and a sudden weight settles on the very edge of the bed. It’s not heavy enough to be Hakoda or Sokka, so he assumes it to be Katara. His mind is instantly put at ease by her presence, and he keeps his eyes closed as he reaches over to stroke his hands over her arm affectionately.

“Take your hands off of me before I break them.”

Definitely not Katara. He jerks his hands back against his stomach, sitting up and looking at the intruder. Zuko doesn’t recognize her until she turns her head to glare at him and a faint memory scratches at the back of his mind. He’s seen her eyes before, but he can’t recall where.

“I thought you were…” He thinks better of it, cutting himself off, clearing his throat, “Are you Suki?” He croaks. He’d heard the name when Sokka had been talking— _babbling,_ Zuko amends—about the escape from the Boiling Rock, and it fit her.

“You’re Zuko.” He takes that as a yes, and also takes it as an affirmative that they’d met before, which certainly wasn’t a good thing.

“I’m sorry.” He might as well apologize for whatever he’s done to her already.

“You should be. You burned down my village.” Zuko nods. He’d burned down more villages than he liked to admit, and he was ashamed to say he couldn’t recall which village was hers.

“Like I said, I’m sorry.” He’s going to be apologizing for the rest of his life, he’s sure of it. Suki doesn’t seem to accept his apology, though, crossing her arms.

“How did you manage to get them to trust you so much, letting you teach Aang?” He lifts his hands as if to display his bound wrists, but another figure comes through the doorway that draws his attention. Katara stops when she sees Suki, shocked, and Zuko takes in all of her with a harsh swallow.

Her wild mass of hair cascades down her shoulders and frames her face, obviously tousled in the way she’d learned he preferred, and she’s dressed in her bindings with the outermost layer of her tunic hanging open and draped over her shoulders. It’s as close to lingerie as she can get, really, and Suki looks between the two of them for a moment before realization visibly dawns on her.

“ _Oh_.” It’s said with pure surprise, but Suki’s second exclamation is aggressive, “Oh.” Neither Katara nor Zuko try to defend themselves, because it’s clear that the warrior isn’t stupid, and she doesn’t need to say the rest of what she’s thinking. _That’s how._ Suki stands and leaves, walking out of the room deceptively calmly.

Zuko gives Katara a desperate glance, sitting up completely, and before he can beg her to follow, she’s gone. Toph sits in the empty doorway, sighing.

* * *

“This—”

“Isn’t what it looks like?” Suki interrupts, spinning on her heel and stopping both of them in their tracks. Katara can tell she’s furious, but beyond that fury, there’s true concern for the waterbender, “How could you let this happen?”

“I…” Katara has nothing to say, gaping before closing her mouth. She doesn’t know how any of this happened. She doesn’t know why she keeps coming back to him. The only proper word for how she feels towards Zuko is addiction, and addiction is far from rational.

“How _involved_ with him are you?” She insinuates well enough, and a blush creeps up to color Katara’s cheeks as the activities of the many nights before flash through her mind all at once.

“Katara…” She lets out a frustrated noise, turning away from Suki, “From what I’ve been told, you are one of the people here with the most reasons to hate him.” Katara doesn’t have enough words to elaborate how much she had hated Zuko before all of this. All of her feelings were colliding and clashing, all thrown about as if they were tumbling through a raging river.  How could she ever explain this to someone else?

“I do.” Katara murmurs, holding herself.

“What?”

“Hate him. I do hate him.” Maybe she wanted to hold on to that hatred. Maybe it was safer than the butterflies she felt when his hands ghosted her skin as if she were the most priceless thing he’d ever encountered. Maybe she wanted to pretend to hate because it was easier than what she refused to call _love_.

“I don’t understand.” Suki says honestly, watching Katara with wide, confused eyes. She knew Suki loved Sokka, and that it was something so _simple_ , and Katara can’t help but feel a flash of jealousy of the ease with which she understood her feelings.

“Neither do I.” Katara responds, nervously tucking a disobedient strand of hair behind her ear, “You can’t tell anyone about this.” Suki looks dumbfounded, immediately spitting out rebuttals.

“There’s too much happening.” Katara interrupts, “There’s a war we need to end, and this will just be a distraction for everybody. I’m not going to make this any harder for Aang. Please understand.” She implores the warrior, being as sincere and open as she physically could, and she only hopes it’s enough to convince her.

“It feels wrong but…fine.” Katara can’t even get her appreciation out before Suki speaks again, “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You stop this. I won’t tell anyone about what you’ve done with Zuko, but I won’t make any promises if you keep doing it. That’s where I draw the line.” It should be a simple condition, one she easily could have meet just weeks before, but now she finds herself torn. Suki’s gaze is hard, unwavering. She isn’t about to change her mind.

“I will. I promise.” She needed to. This addiction was unhealthy, and one she should be thankful for the help in quitting, but she doesn’t want to stop. Perhaps this was the push she needed, “Thank you.” Suki nods, taking her thanks as gratitude for her silence, not understanding what it was truly for. It was better that she didn’t.

* * *

Katara had never been so restless. She tries to fill her days to be as busy as possible, but she always somehow winds up with down time that she doesn’t want. She’s resorted to practicing waterbending forms she’s long since mastered, bending water out of the canteen on her hip and through the air, turning it to shards of ice before melting it and reforming it back into a flowing stream. She whips the band of half frozen water around herself in an intricate spin before tossing it at the low ceiling of her room and letting it rain back down on her in a delicate mist. It’s refreshing, but it does nothing to distract her from the firebender whose burning touch refuses to leave her skin. She feels as if he’s branded her without leaving any visible marks, sighing as she traces his favorite trail along her skin.

It starts on her wrist, flowing up across the sensitive crook of her arm and crossing her collarbone, dancing up to her jaw and eventually to her lips, where his mouth would join his fingers and he’d kiss her as if it was the only way he knew how to breathe. Her hand lingers on her lips, playing along the edges, and she’s sure she’s never wanted someone’s touch so badly.

When had the mistakes, the sudden fits of passion, become an obsession? When had she memorized his favorite trails on her body? When and how had all of this _happened?_

Bending the tiny droplets of water off her skin and twisting the resulting bead of water in the air, she tries to distract herself once again. She gathers the water droplets from all around her into a cohesive stream, idly manipulating it in the air until she wraps it around her wrist and freezes it there; creating a sort of bracelet that numbs her skin. She wears down some of the ridges of the ice with her thumb. Would she ever free herself of him?

“Hey.” Toph greets, leaning in her doorway, “Sparky wants to see you.” Of course he does. She hadn’t spoken to him since she’d made her deal with Suki, and she knew how much he hated being left in the dark, but she didn’t trust herself to be near him.

“I don’t want to see him.” She responds, melting the ice around her wrist and guiding it back into her canteen.

“Ah.” Toph murmurs, her fingers tapping her arm as she thinks, “I’m guessing your chat with Sokka’s girlfriend didn’t go well, then.” Katara worries her lip, sitting back on the edge of her bed and putting her chin in her hands.

“No—yes. I…I don’t know.” Katara finally breathes out hopelessly. She’s surprised when Toph lets out a frustrated groan.

“You two were _made_ for each other.” Katara glares at her indignantly, “Do you know how dramatic you both are? Zuko is a little more broody about it, but still, I can’t deal with this lovesick stuff anymore.”

“I am not dramatic. And I’m not lovesick!” The waterbender counters, and Toph doesn’t even dignify that with a reply.

“Just say you’ll talk to him so I can get out of here.” 

“I won’t.” Toph looks like she’s close to strangling her, knocking the back of her head against the doorframe in frustration.

“Why _not_? You two have been all hot and heavy lately, what’d Suki say to change that?” Katara doesn’t know where to begin, or what to say, so she just lets out a tense breath and looks over at Toph with more aggravation than she had any right to.

“It’s complicated.” Toph is just about ready to give up, already turning to leave until Katara continues speaking, “Why haven’t you ever cared about all of this?” Toph stops, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

“Who says I don’t care?” She turns back to face Katara, “I just don’t see the point in putting my two cents in on your love life. I signed up to be Aang’s earthbending teacher, not your relationship counselor. Do I think your little fling with Zuko is a good thing? No, obviously. It’s not gonna end well, but that’s not really my place. I’m just here to move the doors around.” Katara is stunned, this being the most input Toph has ever had on the situation. She shouldn’t really be surprised with the answer, but the young earthbender had seemed so impartial up until this point.

“Oh.” She answers, at a loss for words for a moment, “But why didn’t you tell anyone else? Sokka or Aang or—” The idea of her father finding out makes fear stab her sharply in the gut, “Anyone?”

“Yeah, like that’d do a lot of good.” Toph snorts, “Aang has a crush on you, and Sokka is your brother. You think if I told them you were getting in Hot Pants’ pants that’d bring the group together more? You know, I would like to not be his prison guard at some point in the near future.” Katara has to admit, the girl didn’t get as much credit as she deserved for her intellect.

“Well, thank you, I guess.” She’s not sure if she should really be thanking her, but she deserves something, “But I’m still not talking to him.” Toph throws her arms up in exasperation, storming out of the room. Distantly, she hears her call:

“ _I’m getting him anyway!_ ” Katara yells her name to stop her, but she’s already long gone, leaving her to fume on her bed and consider leaving. By the time she decides sleeping outside was a better option than facing Zuko, she’s too late, his form appearing in the doorway and making her legs suddenly feel weak.

“Katara.” He says softly, as if speaking too loudly will startle her, “You’ve been avoiding me.” It hadn’t been long, maybe two days, but when they’d built a habit of ravaging each other every night, the time felt like an eternity.

“I’ve been busy.” She tries to sound aloof, but she’d never been the best of liars.

“What happened between you and Suki?” He asks, stepping into the room. It suddenly feels hotter, and she wonders if it’s a trick of her mind or his immense body heat. She wishes she could feel him to tell.

“We talked.” Silence follows, powerful with it implications.

“Is there any chance you could tell me what about?”

“No.” She stands, pressing her hands firmly on her hips, “So if that’s all you came here to talk about, you should go.” He surprises her by smiling and shaking his head with a short chuckle.

“She threatened to tell everyone about us if you kept seeing me, didn’t she?” The surprise that flickers across her face is enough to tell him he’s right, “That’s pretty good blackmail.” Katara plants only one finger against his chest to force him to step back from her.

“It’s not _blackmail_.” She hisses, forcefully removing her finger from him.

“Yes, that is definitely blackmail. She’s using something she has against you to make you do—or not do, I guess, in this situation—something. That’s the definition of blackmail, Katara.” He steps closer again, and his scent washes over her. He smells clean, and she can feel the water droplets in his damp hair.

“She’s doing it for a good reason.”

“Still blackmail.” He responds, but she’s barely listening. Desire clouds her thoughts, making it hard for her to comprehend the nonsensical words she hears. He doesn’t comment on her distraction, moving closer to her like they’re magnetized, and when he burns the ropes around his wrists and settles them on her hips, she doesn’t resist him.

“Not very good blackmail, apparently.” She whispers, hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps she did want everyone to know. Possibly it was just her libido speaking, and after she’d expended it, she’d have the same regret as always. Now, though, she could add the paranoia that Suki would find out about her violation of their agreement.

“She doesn’t understand the situation enough to blackmail you.” Zuko whispers into the skin of her neck, his breaths making her skin tingle as wisps of steam passes his lips.

“She understands enough.” She gasps when his teeth graze her, her hands involuntarily tangling in his hair. She convinces herself that she’d initially intended to pull him away, but she finds her hands holding his head down.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-N…Yes.” She stutters over her words before he can even properly finish his question, forcing her hands out of his hair and pushing him away by his shoulders, “Suki might be right.” Zuko looks down at her, the only word for what’s in his gaze being offense.

“She is?”

“Why are we doing this?” Despite the coldness of the words, she can’t keep her hands to herself. She grazes her thumb across the arch of his cheekbone, feeling the rough, thick skin of his scar. His eyes bore into hers, and it betrays the fact that he has no answer. Neither of them knows what they’re doing.

“Why should we keep doing it?” He seems just as speechless as before, but a wry smile crosses his lips.

“We shouldn’t.” The reasons that Zuko should leave her room and not look back are innumerable. Politics, nationalities, personal wounds and disputes, just to name a few, yet none of that matters when he grabs her jaw and pulls her in for a desperate, heated kiss that steals her breath. It’s far from their most graceful kiss, but Katara doesn’t hesitate when she calls it their most passionate.

He doesn’t try to pretend that their problems don’t exist, he practically elaborates on them with the ferocity with which he caresses her, and she’s glad for it. They could never pretend to be a happy couple when she isn’t even sure they’re a couple in the first place. As they’d established before, they were _something_ , and that was enough. When her back hits her cot, his weight settling over her and hands roaming every inch of skin he can find, she sighs his name. Even when he’s stripped her, his heated hands and mouth tracing patterns on her skin that make all worries of Suki, of the war, of _everything,_ leave her mind, she idly wonders where they’ll be in a month. In a year. In a decade. She wonders if they’ll be around that long at all, and decides that perhaps they won’t be, and that she might as well enjoy her pleasures while she can still feel them.

Zuko thrusts into her solidly, hitting something within her that makes her entire body tense and shudder, and she digs her nails into his sides in response. Whispered pleas for more leave without her consent, and she tries to silence herself by burying her face into the crook of his neck, but her cries only increase in volume against his skin. He knows why she’s trying to be silent, his own quiet grunts lost in her hair. Even their climaxes are silenced, declarations of pleasure swallowed by the other as their lips clash.

“We can fix this, you know.” Zuko murmurs in the following stillness, holding her against his chest. Katara frees herself of his grip and sits up to look down at him, frowning as she pushes his unruly bangs out of his eyes.

“How?” She isn’t entirely sure what he’s referring to fixing—just another testament to their myriad of problems—but she’s confused no matter which one he means.

“We can take away her leverage.” He catches her hand as she pulls it back from his forehead, holding it tightly, “If we tell them first, she’ll have nothing and—”

_We can be together_.

It’s a statement that hangs silently in the air, and one Zuko can’t quite get out of his throat.

“Fix this.” She finishes for him, because now she knows exactly what he means, “But the time isn’t right, Zuko.” She doesn’t need to elaborate. He knows what’s at stake.

“When will it be right?” He shifts beneath her. She’s about to answer when words suddenly burst out of him like a mental damn has been broken, “Even if we get through the war and end it, what then? Do you think the Fire Lord can be with a waterbender even if they’re just _something_? My nation would never stand for it. The only time we can be together is right now. There is no other time to fix this because this is the _last chance!_ ” She’s struck speechless by his intensity, the fire in his eyes reminding her so strongly of the angry, petulant person he used to be.

But he’s right. She doesn’t want him to be, but he is.

“We’ll tell them.” He relaxes slightly, jaw clenched as if he’s physically holding unsaid words in his mouth, “Tomorrow.” He nods.

“Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this was literally the hardest chapter I’ve written so far! Not only is it really plot intensive, but I’m also on Winter Break, which, you may think would give me more time to write, but actually limits it. I’m so busy meeting up with my friends from home and I don’t have a proper bedroom in my father’s apartment so I don’t have any privacy to write. 
> 
> So anyway, expect some longer waiting time between updates until I’m back at college. R&R y’know.


	10. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reveals and revelations.

As it turns out, tomorrow—or at least the tomorrow as they had planned it—doesn’t come. The entire canyon shaking awakes Zuko, and a fine layer of dust coats him as he sits up on his cot. Stumbling to the slab of stone filling his doorway, he pounds his fist against it.

“Toph? What is going on?” He doesn’t receive a response before he’s suddenly thrown to the floor, landing roughly on his right shoulder. He scrambles to his feet, frustrated and gathering a superheated flame between his hands to weaken the rock, but it’s unnecessary. A man he’d seen in passing, dressed in Earth Kingdom greens, suddenly lowers the rock.

“Where is Toph?” Zuko demands, rushing out of the room as soon as he’s able.

“She’s fine, they’re all fine, but we need to leave. It’s not safe here anymore.” His words are punctuated by yet another quake that rocks the entire hall and splits the stone walls into pieces as if the very cliffs were rejecting the structures. The other man—Zuko searches his brain for a name, coming up with something starting with an H—uses his apparent earthbending to rejoin the splitting stone, but it seems to strain him.

“And it’s _definitely_ not safe here. Go.” Zuko isn’t sure how much he trusts the earthbender, but he does what he orders, running down the hall towards the open space of the training area, now decimated by whatever force was destroying the temples. He just barely avoids a gargantuan chunk of rock that breaks away from the ceiling, sending flames against the ground that repel him forward faster than he can run. He lands unsteadily on his feet in the open, gawking at the sight before him.

Fire Nation war balloons hover in the wide space of the canyon, and the source of the shaking becomes apparent as he watches explosives shoot from them and collide with the various Air Temple structures. Dust and smoke clouds the air, obscuring what must be even more ominous balloons hovering nearby.

“Everyone is this way!” Haru exclaims, already running towards a crumbling barricade that shields Aang’s group from the barrage. Zuko starts following him, but as an all too familiar form comes into view from the debris, he finds himself skidding to a halt. Haru doesn’t look back, and he feels fire churn in the pit of his stomach as Azula’s voice—shrill and unstable, so far from the way he remembers it—rings out over the sound of the explosions.

“ _Brother!_ ” She calls, and he’s already running towards the Avatar’s group, predicting her oncoming blast from her perch on the nearest balloon before she delivers it, “I must admit, when father ordered me to kill you, I was shocked!” If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d roll his eyes at her obvious jab regarding their father’s lightning attack.

“Although, I shouldn’t have been.” He barely hears her as she fires a column of heat that he just barely gets in front of and deflects before it can completely destroy the barricade, “You’re not even _worth_ his time anymore. Not even good enough for father to get rid of personally.”

“ _Leave, Azula_. I’m giving you one chance.” Is his only reply as he tries to shift his weight to accommodate for the splitting ground beneath him. The temple is only a few well-aimed blasts from falling off of the cliff completely, but he refuses to run from her this time. He’s grown to become a better man—a better person—than he was before, and he has faith that that’s enough to best Azula.

“Zuko!” A familiar feminine voice, full of fear and panic and a thousand other emotions he can’t decipher in that moment, calls for him. He doesn’t have the luxury of turning his head as Azula’s next blast catches him off guard and explodes in front of him in a flurry of heat and power. It crumbles the ground beneath him and knocks him through the heavy stone barricade. Appa’s white fur meets his back and he’s grateful for the thick fur that cushions his fall, groaning as he slides to the ground below. Something feels broken in his side, perhaps his ribs, but adrenaline dulls the pain enough for him to slowly push himself onto his hands and knees. Katara gingerly lifts him off of the ground, seeming to sense the pain emanating from his ribs and avoiding touching him there.

“Come on, let’s go.” She says over the roar of Azula’s flames and Appa’s incessant groaning that makes his emerging headache throb painfully. He shakes his head and pushes away from her, only one hand lingering on her waist.

“You go. I have to do this.” She’s protesting before he can finish his rebuttal, and he tries to silence her, but there’s too much chaos for his response to have any effect. The entire structure shivers, and he knows he has no time to explain to her why he can’t run from Azula. None of them would understand, anyway, Zuko realizes as he looks to each member of the group gathered around the panicking bison.

“Zuko, we don’t have time to argue about this, Toph and Haru made a tunnel we can leave and Appa—” His hands tangle in her thick hair, fury burning in him when he feels a few locks are brittle and scorched, and he silences her with a desperate, firm kiss to her frantic lips. He swallows the surprised squeak she lets out before pulling away, not looking back to see Hakoda’s mouth turn down into a firm frown or Sokka’s shocked gaze turn into an aggressive glare at his back. There’s nothing he can say to them, not while Azula’s scorching blue flames are turning their last defense to ash, and he knows that even if he’d had the most serene scenario possible, he probably still wouldn’t have much to say. Let them process that as they wish.

Zuko breaks through the curtain of smoke Azula had inadvertently created, using the unstable debris as leverage to fling himself towards his sister’s perch. He manages to grab hold of the rough fabric of the balloon’s outer layer; using one hand to dissipate the plume of azure fire that Azula attacks him with. He pulls himself onto his feet to stand atop the balloon, and Azula leaps to meet him, every movement accented with powerful flames that fan around her like feathers haloing from a bird in flight.

The fact that they’re much better matched isn’t lost on Azula as attack after attack doesn’t land, and her frustration only makes her flames larger. He lets her tire herself, defusing each blast she lobs at him until she’s panting and her carefully tied hair is falling to one side with wild strands whipping around her face. Yet she laughs—cackles, he corrects himself, something is wrong with her and he finds himself standing on his toes as her unpredictability puts him on edge—and continues her assault until he gets close enough to land his own punch on his tiring opponent.

Their fists meet in an explosion of heat and energy, sending them flying in opposite directions. Zuko lets out pained grunts each time he impacts the unforgiving surface of the balloon, feeling his abused ribs shift painfully and when he tumbles awkwardly in an attempt to stop himself his head collides with the immovable force of the balloon. He hardly has time to focus on the blinding agony resonating from his forehead before he finds himself falling through the chilled morning air. It could almost be considered peaceful, all the noise and chaos fading as every passing particle in the air comes into sharp clarity and the stars in his vision sparkle brilliantly.

It’s all interrupted as flames lick at the edges of his bangs, singeing them, and he turns his head to see Azula attempting to continue their fight, even as they both fall to what could likely be their deaths. He tries to respond, balling his hands into fists, but the lack of grounding combined with the full body agony throws off his aim and his retaliation misses by a wide birth.

And then there’s a grip on the back of his tunic pulling him down onto something solid. He’s engulfed in Katara’s familiar presence as she hugs him close and watches his sister’s descent with what he can only call protective fury. He watches with her as Appa weaves through the residual smoke, finding a sigh leaving his lips when she saves herself by repelling against the scorched wall of the canyon. If she were in any right state of mind, she might have been in pain, but instead she smirks at him as he disappears from her view. He can only note just how similar that smirk was to their father’s, cruel and pompous, and how she was playing right into his game. She had been just as much a victim as he had been, falling for the idea that one day he would stop baiting them with his love if only they reached _far_ enough. He pities her, seeing her still so obviously reaching so far.

“You’re in for it now, Sparky.” Toph murmurs. It draws Zuko’s attention off of his introspection, and he finally bothers to look around at the other people sitting in the saddle with him. The group is far smaller now, cut down to Aang, Sokka, Toph, Katara, and Suki. He locks eyes with Suki, having an entire conversation in just one gaze. She’s furious with him, her knuckles white as she grips both the edges of the saddle and Sokka’s hand. Zuko’s eyes follow the line of her arm to the tribesman, finding no less fury in him. In fact, the only people who seem to be happy to see him—and he’s not sure one of them counts when one can’t technically _see_ —are Toph and Katara.

“Where should I start?” Zuko asks tiredly. He doesn’t hear the answer as darkness veils his vision, unconsciousness claiming him swiftly.

* * *

 

Ember Island is a picturesque place. Pale sand borders the sea, the grains fine enough that it’s particularly soft to the touch, but still being dense enough to not be kicked up by the wind and tossed onto those on the beach. The waters are clear enough to see straight to the bottom of the seabed, and the vibrant, colorful fish of the Fire Nation waters freely swim through the depths. Beyond the beaches, there are fields of lush grass that are shorn short in the more residential areas but grow long on the outskirts of the island. The temperature is much like the rest of the Fire Nation—humid and warm—and there’s a constant wind that circulates the island that keeps it from being stifling. Overall, it could be considered a paradise.

Yet Katara couldn’t enjoy any of it. None of them could, really, with the presence of that kiss hanging over them. It had been tame compared to their other kisses, quick and chaste, but it was enough to broadcast to everyone there that it was not their first kiss. It was too comfortable; too familiar. It spoke of too many kisses before it.

“Katara, what…what happened?” Zuko groans out, instinctively reaching down to his side and feeling the bruises. She stops his hand before he can do too much damage. It’s the first time he seems coherent enough to speak to her, his gaze more focused than any of the times he’d stirred during their travel to Ember Island. He’d managed to guide them, somewhat, in his semiconscious state, but he hadn’t responded to any questions. His ribs were battered—possibly broken—coupled with slight burns on his wrists and arms from dispelling his sister’s attacks. He also quite plausibly had a concussion, which explained his previous incoherency.

“Don’t touch your ribs. I’ve set them, but bone takes a long time to heal, even with my bending.” She could only heal him in short bursts when she was doing such intensive repairs, and it only took a few minutes for her to tire and her chi to expend itself. Even with their unnaturally linked chi, she couldn’t heal him any faster than she already was.

“Where—” He breathes out, his eyes flickering around the room and realization dawns on him. Red drapery, red carpets, red sheets.

 _Fire Nation._ His brain helpfully supplies as his eyes finally settle on Katara. _Smells like ocean._ His thoughts are still fragmented and scrambled, but he manages to spit out, “Ember Island.”

“We didn’t have anywhere in mind to go, but you managed to led us here.” The look on his face shows that he doesn’t recall any of his instructions, and she’s convinced that he at least has a mild concussion. She’ll have to focus equally on healing that, as well as his bones.

“Where is everyone? Aang? Is everyone okay?” She pushes the unwieldy bangs out of his eyes and sees the deep, purpling bruise on the right side of his forehead.

“You’re the only one who has a scratch on them.” She answers, hand hovering over his bruise. Zuko makes a noise in response, reaching up to take her hand and clasping it between two of his own. He toys with her fingers, tracing down from each knuckle to fingernail.

“Why?” Katara asks, the question making far more sense in her head than it did to Zuko.

“Why did I fight Azula?” He questions back at her, his thumb pausing halfway down her left ring finger.

“Kiss me in front of them.” His eyes—so intense and unwavering that she feels her skin prickle uncomfortably—stare into hers in answer. He doesn’t need to verbally tell her why, and he doesn’t get the chance to.

“Katara, come on, we need to—oh.” Sokka stands in the doorway, gripping the aged wood tightly as he appraises Zuko and his gentle hold on Katara’s hand, “He’s up.”

“Not right now, Sokka.” There’s a conversation in there that Zuko knows he’s missed, looking between the siblings, “This is no time for your stupid duel threats.” The tribesman huffs loudly, his arms crossing his chest and his mouth opening as if he’s about to rebut her, but Zuko interrupts him.

“He wants to duel me?” There’s more amusement in his tone than there probably should be, “It wouldn’t be a very fair fight.”

“Well, yeah, but I’d wait for you to heal first. Then I’d kick your butt.” Sokka chimes, but Zuko shakes his head. He instantly regrets the movement as his entire world spins out of focus.

“I meant it would be unfair to you.” Zuko mumbles, gripping his head and blinking, “And I’m not going to fight you over your sister. She’s not something to be won in a swordfight.” She seems to respond well to that statement, resting her free hand on Zuko’s bare stomach. There’s enough space between her hand and his ribs, but it still makes him instinctively jolt.

“Whatever. I’m not buying your whole _noble gentlemen_ act.” This was exactly what Zuko had feared when he had decided telling everyone was for the best. He knew he would lose some progress with them, if not all of it. He had never gotten particularly close to Sokka, not like he had with Katara or Aang, but the loss of his wavering trust still hurt in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Sokka, I know you must hate me because of the past and—” Sokka makes a noise between a groan and a shriek that makes Zuko’s jaw snap shut.

“Past or not, you were getting it on with my sister!” Sokka says, flailing his arms about animatedly, “I don’t care who you are, I’m going to duel you over that!”

“ _Sokka_.” Katara warns, but it falls on seemingly deaf ears.

“I mean if you don’t want to duel, I can challenge you to a—what’s it called— _Agni Koi?”_

“Kai.” Zuko corrects, but doesn’t otherwise answer him, leaving most of the bickering to the siblings. The conversation descends into nearly incomprehensible squabbling that makes Zuko’s head throb, and he shifts to look out the window at the land he knew so well. It was dusk, the sun hanging just above the horizon, and he can make out Aang, Suki and Toph slowly making their way up from the adjoining beach. They seem settled, the path up to the beach house being worn enough to indicate that they’d walked it several times, and he wonders how long he’d been out for.

“Aang is going to want to talk to him.” Zuko turns his head, looking back at the two of them to find Sokka staring him down far less playfully, “He seemed pretty serious.”

“Zuko has a concussion, he’s not in any condition to—” The Prince waves off her words. Injured or not, he had never let that deter him from his duties. As far as he was concerned, attending to the Avatar was his only duty at this point in time.

“I’m ready to talk.” Sokka nods, leaving the room before Katara can try to convince him otherwise. Silence follows, veiling the room and making the remaining pair shift awkwardly in it. Aang was unpredictable in his reactions, his boyish nature and his upraising under the monks making it difficult to predict which side of his personality he would side with.

“Zuko.” As it turns out, he sides strongly with the monk’s teachings, being as calm as Zuko has ever seen him when he speaks, “We weren’t sure you were ever going to wake up.” Aang says evenly, looking him over. Although the strange calmness was foreign to him, he recognized the tightness in the boy’s posture. He looked like he was prepared for a fight, shifting on his toes with his hands held at his sides and fingers spread wide. He could transition into any number of air bending forms from that stance.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know. I’m still your firebending teacher.” Zuko sighs. It seems to put Aang somewhat at ease, and he stills his feet. His hands don’t relax, though, and those are far more dangerous.

“I know.” He leaves it at that. Katara tries to add her own input, reaching out as if to touch him before thinking better of it and recoiling, and the conflict on her face is so painful for Zuko to see that he can’t stand to look at her. Instead, he stares out the window to watch the retreating sun. Neither of them had been privy to the conversation Aang must have shared with Suki, but they’re sure Aang knows far more than what their kiss had alluded to.

“Then it’s settled.” Zuko’s simple words say just as much as Aang’s had, and Katara can do nothing more than sigh. Their world was already complicated, and they’d seemed to have succeeded in somehow tangling it up further.

It was something that was better left in knots, Zuko decides.

* * *

 

Katara’s moans, his name on her breathless lips, become dreamlike memories to Zuko, something he wouldn’t believe were real if he couldn’t still feel her smooth skin under his when he imagined her at night. He throws himself into training Aang to fill the short amount of time and when the comet comes, he’s so confident in his pupil that he doesn’t once fear defeat. And when Zuko feels he might be dying after Azula’s lightning strikes him, Katara is there, like a spirit poised to guide him to the other side. He’s not entirely against the idea. Things would be easier then, at least, yet she brings him back and just as he’s sure he’s finally free of the confusion and the knots and the _pain_ , he’s back.

Days pass as he recovers, both mentally and physically. His body feels beaten beyond repair, the nerves in his extremities still reacting more sluggishly than he’d like due to the lightning’s damage, but his mind is what is truly frayed. Not only is the stress of the incoming coronation weighing on him, but he also can’t help but repeatedly hope that it’s Katara’s face he’ll see when a servant pushes open the doors to his chamber. It never is, and he knows it’s for the best, but his craving for her refuses to believe it.

He shrugs on his outermost robe, securing the sash around his waist, and he can’t help but pause as he catches sight of the pale scars on his wrists. They were faded and far too light for anyone to notice if they weren’t looking for them, but he feels a startling ache in his chest as he traces the inside of his wrist with a thumb.

A servant is tying his hair back into a tight topknot when Hakoda’s form appears in the doorway. Zuko sees him in the mirror, eyes flickering nervously between his own reflection and Katara’s imposing father. He swallows nervously.

“You’re dismissed.” Zuko fumbles with his words, brushing the servant off.

“My lord—” Zuko shakes his head to silence the budding disagreement. His topknot is hardly perfect, the servant trying to rush to finish, and when he leaves Zuko feels his hair start to fall.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Hakoda says, stepping into the room and shutting the doors behind him. It’s a feat with how heavy they are, but Hakoda is powerfully built.

“I figured this would be a private discussion, _Chief_ Hakoda.” Zuko hastily adds his proper title. He was mere minutes from being crowned Fire Lord, he needed to grow accustomed to formal niceties. Hakoda smirks, stepping up to stand behind Zuko and tugging out the useless tie in the young ruler’s hair.

“Yes, but I’d rather not make you late to your coronation. I don’t intend this to be that long of a talk.” Zuko fidgets as Hakoda gathers Zuko’s unruly hair into one large hand easily. The topknot he forms is perfectly centered, and he even manages to capture those few stray strands that usually try to free themselves.

“Thank you.” Zuko says, fretting with the hem of his sleeve, “About me and Katara—” Hakoda sighs heavily, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Doing that with someone’s daughter without asking their father’s permission was dishonorable.” Forced, heavy words leave the monarch. He’s had too much time to think about this.

“I can’t say I would have agreed to it, but I also can’t say Katara would have listened to me.” They both smile somewhat fondly at that, “Are you two still…” As poised a man as Hakoda is, he suddenly seems awkward, looking off to the side and waving his hand absently. A flush rises to Zuko’s cheeks.

“No.” Zuko answers too quickly with a hint of bitterness, “I’ve heard rumors about her and Aang, but me and Katara? Not anymore.” Too complicated. It had been too complicated then, and it was impossibly complicated now.

“Then maybe I should be having this talk with him.” Despite how dryly Hakoda says it, the small upturn at the corner of the man’s mouth tells Zuko that it’s a joke. Yet it still makes something jealous burn in him despite having no right to feel such a way. Aang was good for her. It would be _easy_ with Aang, and Katara deserved that after so many struggles. They all deserved that, he muses, idly flicking aside one of Mai’s hairpins.

“Maybe.” Hakoda’s smile dies, turning to a concerned frown.

“You still feel something for her.” Hakoda says. A halfhearted denial is falling from Zuko’s lips before he can even understand what he’s saying.

“I can’t afford to.” Hakoda doesn’t dispute that. The man is a tactician, he knows how to analyze a situation and Zuko knows that he sees how complicated this is. He’d seemingly been willing to let that slide, though, with how leisurely he’d approached the situation. With a distant feeling of awe, Zuko wonders if Hakoda had been coming to give his blessing.

“Your son was going to duel me over her, after all.” Zuko sighs exaggeratedly, standing from the vanity and stepping away. He flattens wrinkles in his robes that don’t exist, “I can’t afford to take that risk.” Hakoda chuckles, nodding.

“Very true. You’re a smart boy.” There’s a silent understanding between them as Zuko bows respectfully, following the older man to the door, “Smart enough to handle this.” Hakoda opens the door for him and Zuko’s brow furrows as he tries to understand which _this_ he means. The duties of the Fire Lord? The trials of rebuilding a nation? His tumultuous maybe-relationship with Katara? He doesn’t seem to be planning on explaining further, and Zuko doesn’t prod, heading down the hall to finally meet his destiny.

The crowning hairpiece seems to weigh more than he’d ever thought it would, making him hesitate for just a fraction of a second before he rises to his feet and says the words he’d practiced repeatedly as he tried to push Katara’s gaze from his brain. Aang’s presence should be a comforting one, his kind smile bearing nothing but good will, but all Zuko can focus on is how he envied the Avatar. Why he envied him, he decides not to dissect.

The cheering of the crowd, all dressed in greens, reds and blues of the separate nations, seems to die as he finds Katara in the crowd. She’s not looking at him, her eyes trained on Aang, but it’s the strained smile on her face that tells him all he needs to know. They both live in cages, their roles defined by what their duties require of them, hers is just far less gilded.

 

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The most unhappy ending I’ve ever written in my life, but what are you gonna do? I’m really happy to have written this with all of your support, and I’ll probably write another Zutara story at some point, but this is it for now, at least as far as the main story goes. There will be an epilogue added fairly soon as an eleventh chapter. It might be much shorter than the actual chapters, though, as it is an epilogue.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final addition to The Gilded Cage.
> 
> Zuko realizes nothing is ever final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmmmm....not really sure this is entire "epilogue" material, as it feels more like just another chapter but idk. It explains some loose ends left in chapter ten, that I meant to cover but never did. So here y'go.

**_Epilogue_ **

****

_How many years has it been?_

           

They’re both busy, and their affair becomes nothing but a distant memory as years come and go. Zuko distances himself from them when rebellions rear their ugly heads, and when a Water Tribe assassin tries to take his life and her unnervingly blue eyes lock with his, he feels that familiar dull ache deep in his chest. Iroh calls it heartache, but the sentiment is far too romantic for Zuko to accept. He proposes to Mai to dull the pain, but their apathetic love only serves to make him yearn for more. The nation is pleased with the idea of a royal wedding, though, so he continues to pretend he’s nothing but passionate for his fiancée.

But then Katara appears at his engagement party and he forgets Mai’s name during his speech. She’s a vision in blue, the dress being the most formal thing he’s ever seen her in but still keeping her unique style. The smooth fabric flows over her shoulders and across her bust like water trailing across her skin. His mouth feels dry as his eyes follow the cut further down to where it pulls in at her slender waist before flaring out again into a multitude of blues that flow freely around her legs. When she walks towards him, her arm intertwined with Aang’s, he can catch glimpses of her legs through the shifting fabric.

“— _gratulations!”_ Aang says, but Zuko just barely catches it, blinking rapidly. He looks back to the airbender. It had been years since they’d seen each other, having only been able to communicate via messenger hawk due to their conflicting schedules, and it seemed time effectively healed all wounds. The Avatar has nothing but kind things to say as he congratulates Zuko on his engagement. If he’d noticed the Fire Lord’s incessant staring at his wife, he wasn’t leading on.

“Thank you, Aang, it means a lot that you could all make it here.” Zuko responds, implying the rest of their group. Sokka and Toph, dragging Suki behind them, had quickly disappeared to buffet table shortly after they had arrived and he hadn’t seen them since. He supposes it was the thought that counted.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Katara says. Her voice does something strange to him, his hand twitching in Mai’s. His fiancée doesn’t do more than press her painted lips together at the movement.

“I’ve heard you’re all busy, you didn’t have to clear out your schedule for this.” Mai says, calculating eyes flicking between the three of them, “It’s been how many years since you’ve seen each other in person? How important can this be?”

“Four years.” Zuko answers too quickly. Mai’s tightlipped apathy turns into an outright scowl, “And I’ve kept in constant contact with them. They’re my friends, Mai, try not to bite their heads off.” Her scowl turns into a bitter smile, and that’s when he knows he’s going to be sleeping alone tonight.

“ _Friends_. Right.” She more throws his hand from hers than drops it, backing away from the small group, “I’m going to go get something to drink. I’ll try not to _bite anyone’s head off_ while I’m at it.” She says dryly as she turns her back to them. Zuko doesn’t pay her much mind as he folds his arms across his chest and returns his focus to his guests.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to…” Aang starts, motioning to Mai’s retreating form, “If we knew this was going to cause you trouble, we wouldn’t have come.” The monarch shakes his head in disagreement; barely mumbling something about _she’ll get over it_ before he transitions into the usual niceties.

_What have you been up to?_

_Any new exciting adventures to tell me about?_

_How is the South Pole treating you?_

And after a few drinks and Aang’s departure to speak with some Fire Nation dignitaries, the questions become something else entirely.

_Do you love him?_

_Why did we do this to ourselves?_

_When will I be able to get you out of my head?_

“Come outside with me.” Zuko breaks his questioning suddenly, offering her his hand. There are new scars on both of their digits.

“It’s a bad idea.” Katara whispers over the clamoring of the quickly inebriating crowd. She takes his hand anyway.

“I know.” He pushes through the few people who linger in his way, exiting the grandiose ballroom and entering the modest gardens. It’s summer, the foliage in full bloom, and he has no trouble concealing the two of them behind some particularly full trees and bushes. He’s sure the bark bites into her back when he pushes her up against it, but she doesn’t complain. Her arms wrap around his neck, fumbling with the protruding shoulder pads of his traditional garb as she does so. She pulls him closer, but neither of them dares to close the distance because things are so different now.

They aren’t desperate teenagers throwing caution to the wind anymore. They’re engaged adults, and their betrayals have consequences now. Yet that isn’t enough to stop him, he realizes, as he braces a hand over Katara’s shoulder against the tree trunk and leans in to brush his lips against hers in the lightest parody of a kiss he possibly could’ve claimed. He expects her to pull him close like she always had, but she turns her head when he tries to kiss her. He sighs when his lips connect with her cheek.

“Why are you marrying Mai?” She asks. He lowers his head and rests it against her neck. He wonders if the smell of rain on her skin is imagined.

“I’m supposed to.” So many times he’d gone against what he was _supposed_ to do, but he doesn’t know if he has enough fight left in him to fight social convention and rebellions at the same time. It feels wrong to give up so easily, but if he’d learned anything in his few years as Fire Lord, it was to only pick battles that you could win. Time and energy were precious and finite resources, after all.

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Maybe he’s a little drunk, because his words come out more freely than he’d like.

“Why are you marrying Aang?” Katara sighs softly, pushing him away by his shoulders and arching her brows. She’d only grown more beautiful as she’d reached adulthood, he notes.

“I love him.” Zuko frowns and she shakes her head in response, “As for you, I don’t…we weren’t even really a _thing_. We were—”

“Something.” He takes her hands off of his shoulders but doesn’t release her wrists. He’s more desperate to touch her than he’d like to admit.

“Something. I can’t build my whole life on something, Zuko.” She says gently, and he nods. He’d come to that realization himself years ago. He was never supposed to dream about her skin long after he’d last touched it. He was never supposed to want something beyond _something_.

“I never asked you to.” He recalls the distance once they’d arrived on Ember Island. The tangled mess that had become their relationship had been far too much for the group to bear. It was either break apart whatever they had or risk his professional relationship with Aang. In the end, his duty to the Avatar—and subsequently the world—had been worth more than some teenage fling. He didn’t regret his choice in that matter, and neither did she, but for some reason he can’t stop wondering what might have been.

“Then what are we doing?” Such gentle touches caress his cheek, and when she touches his scar he lets out a heavy sigh. Even Mai was hesitant to touch him there, her fingers tactfully avoiding it when she held his face.

“I have no idea.” He answers, capturing her hand on his cheek and kissing the inside of her wrist. A scar lingers there, a stark line of white on her dark skin. So many stories pattern her skin, just as they do his. He knows Aang shares that feature as well. The thought makes him drop her hand and step away. He’d been able to inhabit the gray area that had existed between Aang and her before, but now, he couldn’t actively do this to either of them. She _deserved_ to be happy with him, no matter what irrational feelings he had for her.

“But I think Aang is looking for you.” Zuko continues, stepping further back from Katara before he raises his hand and ignites the air above it in a quick flash of light to draw the airbender’s attention. Aang travels to them more quickly than anyone else could have, able to hop the railing on a blast of air and landing close enough to them that he’s standing at Katara’s side in just a few strides.

“What were you guys doing?” He asks innocently, but there’s a glint of distrust in his gaze for just a moment. He’d patched their friendship up in their years apart, but he knew Aang wasn’t as naïve as he pretended to be at times. He knew just as well as either of them that feelings were hard, if not impossible, to ignore. Zuko respects him for it.

“We were taking a walk. It was starting to get stuffy in the ballroom.” Katara says naturally, and he supposes it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Which reminds me, I should go tell the servants to open the windows.” Zuko says tactfully, already starting to bow in goodbye before Aang grabs hold of his arm and makes him pause.

“I actually wanted to talk to you, Zuko, if that’s okay.” The Fire Lord is surprised but quickly recovers and nods. Aang gives him a good-natured smile—it’s almost painful how genuine the man is—and nods towards the path extending to the rest of the gardens.

“Let’s walk.” Another loaded gaze is exchanged between Katara and Aang that makes Zuko fidget uncomfortably, and she turns to walk away from them without a word. As they walk, Zuko can’t help but wonder when Aang had gotten tall enough to practically look him directly in the eye, if not down at him.

“I’m glad for the occasion to see you, Zuko. I know things have been… _complicated_ , but I still consider you a friend. I wish I could see you more.” Neither of them really knows what he’s referring to as complicated. The whole world felt complicated, as well as their own social circle being a tangled mess of pasts and secrets that even Zuko couldn’t find the beginning or end of anymore, despite being privy to most of the secrets.

“You’re all always welcome here.” Zuko answers with a furrowed brow, kicking aside a wayward pebble on the path, “I haven’t been keeping you away.”

“I know, but we tend to travel together when we can—for old time’s sake, I guess—and the world has enough problems to keep us busy, and you…well, I can guess you’re pretty busy.” Even if Aang knew nothing of the state of the Fire Nation, he would be able to tell Zuko’s workload by just looking at his face. After only six years since his crowning, his work had prematurely aged him. The constant dark circles under his eyes spoke of the sleeplessness nights that naturally accompanied the position, and at the age of twenty-two, he had already discovered a silver hair or two in his combs. He had yet to spot any wrinkles, thankfully, but he was sure those would come soon enough if stress didn’t kill him first.

“Busy is an understatement.” Zuko sighs out, “But it’s good to take some time away from it and see friends.” Much of his relationship with Aang is spoken silently, he realizes, as he turns his head to watch him. The small, sad upturn of Aang’s mouth is enough to tell Zuko the rest of his own statement.

_Brings us back to simpler times_.

“We’re not old enough to be so nostalgic.” Aang huffs. Zuko is sure he sees a pout somewhere in there, but he hides his answering chuckle behind his hand.

“How many centuries old do you have to be to be nostalgic?” Zuko asks before Aang’s shoulder collides with his side and shoves him off of the path. There’s something so childish about it as Zuko returns the gesture and pushes him back that he can’t help but let out a _real,_ unrestrained laugh when they’re running through the garden participating in something that looked somewhat like sparring, and somewhat like children playing tag.

Fun. He realizes he’s having _fun_. He realizes how easily he can breathe when he wasn’t expected to be everything the Fire Nation wanted and needed, and just be the man he is. When they return to the path, out of breath and smiling, the world feels as if it’s temporarily climbed off of his shoulders. He knows Aang tended to have that effect on people, but never had he experienced it so strongly. Never before has his friendship with Aang felt so _easy_.

It’s why guilt clutches his insides so harshly when Katara knocks on his door late that night, and he doesn’t turn her away. He can never turn her away, he realizes in that moment when he embraces her like a missing piece of himself. When their lips meet properly, murmured regrets whispering between them, he knows they could never be together yet they couldn’t be apart.

If they had to perpetually exist as _something_ , that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamnit, I feel like I could make a sequel about this. I might write more about post-series Zuko in this universe? Idk. I strangely enjoy writing Fire Lord Zuko a lot. Anyway, that’s it, folks. 
> 
> I’d like to state that I’d gladly take requests? I’ve seen other fanfic authors do it, and it always looked fun. So if you’ve got some Avatar fic ideas you want me to write, send me a comment about it, and maybe it’ll become a thing? I’m not saying I’ll take every request, but if one strikes my fancy, I’ll give it a shot and post it.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, then. Hopefully I'll be able to update this at some point if anyone's interested in seeing where I'm going with this. Comments are appreciated.


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